


I've Got You Under My Skin

by marswithghosts



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Request Meme, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 49,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marswithghosts/pseuds/marswithghosts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my tumblr ficlets/drabbles/what have yous.</p><p>Inspired by Ngozi's Check, Please! which can be read here: http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/57705111693</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a collection of all the ficlets and drabble-type little things I've put on my tumblr. I'm rating this overall as Explicit due to some NSFW content, but there's a wide range of ratings here. I will be adding to this periodically.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 6 April 2016, 7 April 2016, 8 April 2016, and 9 April 2016.

[1]

There’s a space of two inches on Bitty’s neck that is the most sensitive part of his body. Jack has catalogued the second most sensitive (earlobe) and third (the inside of his wrist), but pressing mouth to neck pulls Bitty’s bones right out of him, turns him all melted in Jack’s arms. Bitty is–surprisingly–quiet when they’re alone and together like this, his hands and body eager but his throat filled with little whimpers and sighs instead of what Jack expected, which was…words. 

It makes him wonder why Bitty is so quiet in this when he’s never quiet in anything. What’s made him so silent in intimate moments like this, the few minutes they have in his room while pretending to wash up for dinner? Through the half-open window in Bitty’s room, Jack can smell the barbecue Coach has on the grill, and he thinks, Oh. That’s probably why. 

“You feel good,” Jack tries, his hand on Bitty’s hip, fingers slipped just under his tank to find his sweat-damp skin. Georgia is hot, but Bitty’s skin is even hotter. 

Bitty makes another soft noise at that, and when Jack pulls back just enough to look at him, his eyes are glazed, his mouth pink and slack. Jack kisses him. How can he not. 

Suzanne Bittle’s voice carries sweetly up the stairs, calling them boys and asking them down for dinner. Bitty goes still in Jack’s arms. Jack can tell by the way Bitty’s chest heaves that his heart is fluttering behind his ribcage. 

These stolen moments aren’t enough, and Jack wants nothing more than to explore the summer stretch of Bitty’s body where he can take his time and learn and appreciate. He doesn’t want to be rushed. Doesn’t want to stop. 

“Come with me to Providence,” he says, mouth falling into those two inches of his neck. Bitty clutches at him. Jack exhales. 

 “When?” 

“When I leave. Let me get your ticket. Come with me.”

“Jack…” 

"Come with me." 

Bitty’s fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck feels like he’s had them there for a long time, the movement so easy and practiced. Bitty shakes out a breath. "Yes. Okay. I will.”

 

[2]

Jack was very wrong. The most sensitive part of Bitty’s entire body is the junction of his hip and thigh, that little crevice of space that tastes intensely of salt. This is the spot that makes Bitty’s whole body seize, his toes curl, his spine arch as he lets out a breath that has substance to it, Jack’s name hissed in disbelief. 

Jack has to hold him by his thighs to keep him from squirming too much on the bed. It’s a new bed in his Providence apartment, slept in only by him, but this is the christening–their first night together in the same bed, when all they’d had in the summer was frustrating minutes spent pawing at one another before they were interrupted by some Georgian or another. Three days together but not together, and texts and a few phone calls in between. Jack should be too busy for this. But he has made time, because he needed it and Bitty deserved it. 

Though it takes two hours and three baked pies, Bitty relaxes enough to follow Jack into his bedroom, where he babbles about Lardo’s paintings on the wall and the Providence skyline and oh goodness Jack everything is so organized, and his eager uncertainty is endearing. When Jack touches him, though, Bitty acquiesces instantly, raising up to find Jack’s mouth with his own, and slowly, little by little, Bitty lets Jack strip him bare out of both his clothes and his nerves, and he lets Jack lay him out on the bed like Jack wanted in Georgia. 

Jack loves on him with his hands and his mouth and his own bared body, rising over Bitty and sliding skin together, his mouth at Bitty’s collarbones, his sternum. His chest has only a touch of soft blonde hair, his nipples peaked and kissed by Jack’s own mouth. Then, further down, he laves over Bitty’s jutting hipbone, focused on Bitty’s little mews and hitching hips to guide him. 

Then he finds it. That spot. The one that tightens every muscle in Bitty’s body and makes him say Jack’s name. Bitty’s cock, hard and leaking, is so close but Jack doesn’t touch him there yet. He leaves marks all over Bitty’s skin first, marking his territory here, spurred by Bitty’s unconscious whimpering of Jack’s name over and over, both soothing and invigorating, and Jack feels relief and desire flood his body in equal amounts. How he wanted this. How he has it now. 

Bitty’s fingers, shaking, touch his chin. Jack looks up and meets those dark eyes. Bitty says, “Please” in this strange little voice, and Jack’s heart stirs restlessly in his chest. 

“Please what?” he asks, wanting clarification. 

“Just. Please.”

Jack nods, understanding the want without knowing what he wants. He had that for a long time with Eric Bittle. He feels like he’s a little more clear now. 

Bitty’s fingers slide into his hair, and Jack closes his eyes and breathes.

 

[3]

Jack desperately wishes he had his camera handy, because Bitty looks amazing framed in the large window of his bedroom, wearing Jack’s flannel shirt and nothing else, his long legs golden and toned for miles and his feet bare. He looks like a fantasy Jack didn’t know he should’ve been having this whole time. 

For his part, Jack is still in bed. Uncharacteristic of him, but there’s a long list of things in the past week that are uncharacteristic of him, and he’s less concerned than he normally would be. Something soft and light has taken up residence in his chest, and he feels so calm he could almost drowse back into a deep sleep. 

“Your coffee is awful,” Bitty says, and he turns just enough so Jack can see his clever hands curled around a big mug. This is the first time Jack has woken up with someone and been completely sober—something he doesn’t like to admit. He watches as Bitty watches him, and then Bitty’s smile looks exasperated. “What are you lookin’ at?”

“I like what you’re wearing,” Jack says, because it’s true. Bitty’s flush is heavy in the rosy-gold sunrise. “What’s wrong with my coffee?”

“Jack. It’s the stalest coffee I’ve ever had in my life.”

Jack rolls over onto his stomach, shifting so he can still stare at Bitty’s legs through half-closed eyes. “Nobody’s making you drink it.”

“Don’t you dare chirp me, Mr. Zimmermann. Stale coffee is better than no coffee.”

Jack is struck by a memory at Samwell—memories he tries hard not to think about, because they put a deepseated ache in his bones—of seeing Bitty waving at him across the quad and realizing, instantly, that he needed to speak to him, to hear his voice and his chirps, to get coffee with him even though Jack did (does) not approve of the sheer amount of sugar Bitty takes in his coffee. He remembers buying Bitty so many coffees, so many cups of froyo. Of buying him pizza and beer, of refilling his red solo cup at parties. He should’ve known then how gone he was. How, half the time, he acted like a boyfriend anyway.

“We’re dating, right?” Jack asks, finding he needs some sort of confirmation, because he’s never actually seriously  _dated_ anyone, and while the idea of putting a label on it makes him nervous (he’s not a very good boyfriend), the fact that it’s Bitty makes him want to be better.

Bitty gives him another exasperated look, but the color in his cheeks only deepens. He looks…so pleased. “Jack Zimmermann, I swear.”

“I’m serious.”

“Do you want to be dating me?”

Yes. Of course. “I was just thinking,” he says, “that we’ve…kind of been dating a while now anyway.”

Bitty turns away. He has a hand held up to his face and Jack can’t see his expression, but he sees the way Bitty’s shoulders rise and fall as he breathes. He shivers a little before turning back around. “Gosh, you’re something else,” he says, and he sets the cup on the windowsill before sliding back into bed with Jack, who slips the flannel off of Bitty’s bare shoulders and cradles him close.

 

[4]

Bitty hadn’t known Jack for very long when he realized that Jack doesn’t have very many unique facial expressions. Even in bed together, he goes from generic intense to generic happy and generic sleepy over and over again. But when Jack sees Bitty wearing his clothes, his face does something Bitty’s never seen. There’s something hungry about it but there’s something else, too, that he can’t quite put his finger on.

He’s curious about what this could be, so he takes to wearing Jack’s clothes as much as possible, particularly his red and blue flannel, and watching for responses. At first, it’s just that look, equal parts desire and that other thing he can’t name. Then, Jack starts to respond physically—pulling Bitty closer to him, snagging his hand as Bitty walks by, curling into his back from behind.

And finally, the end phase of Jack’s weird expression whenever Bitty is wearing his clothes—grabbing Bitty by the waist, picking him up, and taking him into the bedroom.

It’s only after one of  _these_ times that Bitty finally questions it, as he lies sweaty and sated in Jack’s bed with Jack still nuzzling at him like a great cat. “What are you thinking about when you see me in your clothes?”

He has to ask it twice because Jack’s not paying attention, instead trying to suck a hickey into Bitty’s side. “Oh,” Jack says at last, “I don’t know. I just like it.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “You want to elaborate on that, maybe?”

“Just. Makes me feel good.” Jack drapes over him and it takes Bitty’s breath away for a moment. Jack is exceptionally big all over, and to have such a weight pressing him down into the sheets… “Makes me want to,” Jack says slowly, and oh dear his tongue is pressing against the side of Bitty’s sensitive neck, “do things.”

“Things,” Bitty says, because he can’t help it, and Jack’s hips rock against his.

“Things,” Jack says, and Bitty finds he doesn’t need to ask him to clarify anything else with words.


	2. Fourth of July 2015, 10:57 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 12 April 2016.

Pressed against the door in the backseat of the truck, Bitty can almost think of this as checking practice, except for the fact that Jack is hot and moving between his splayed knees and they’re making out. He’s felt Jack’s body against his before in so many other, innocuous situations, but this is so different. Bitty has kissed exactly three people before—one with  _tongue_ , even—but that is nothing, nothing at all compared to what they’re doing now.

“Okay?” Jack says, and his big hands on Bitty’s hips are frustrating. They don’t really fit in the backseat like this, and they’re both still sticky from the Georgia heat and humidity, but the AC is on and the truck is parked and private, and Bitty has never wanted anything so much in his life. So he nods, fingers curling in Jack’s sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck, and bringing him in for another kiss.

This is the first alone time they’ve actually had since Jack arrived that morning in Madison, and the weeks preceding were spent texting near-constantly when Jack wasn’t busy with hockey, and late night phone calls, and talking  _so much_ Bitty feels like he knows every part of Jack’s nervous heart. And he’s given himself too, so easily, finding that Jack is…great, actually. A great listener. A great talker. He’s funny and soft and sweet and intense, and a few times he told Bitty things like  _I can’t stop thinking about you_ and  _I wish I could kiss you right now_ , and hearing those words in Jack’s own voice was like thunder in Bitty’s bones. Oh, how he  _wanted_  in a way he’s never wanted before, because Bitty has always been too focused on other things, too intent on just moving forward and making those around him happy so he could try to be happy too.

And sometimes he really  _was_ happy, but only sometimes, and he knew he was missing…something. Not missing another person in his life, of course, because he’s always prided himself on being strong and not wanting to look for his “other half” because he’s perfectly whole as it is, but…he missed having a deeper connection. Having a friend he could…spill to. Even with Ransom and Holster and Shitty and Lardo, he doesn’t trust himself with them, too afraid of revealing something they don’t want to see in him. Of being dark or sad.

Along comes Jack, and now Jack, inexplicably, surprisingly, thankfully, seeks that connection as well, and Jack has taken all the dark parts Bitty has in himself and told Bitty he’s still worth it. Has been incredibly gentle and tender.

Jack did not push Bitty away, and Bitty is desperately, deeply in love.

“Okay?” Jack says again, when his hands are pushing at Bitty’s tank and revealing his trembling stomach. Jack’s breath is too hot in the curve of Bitty’s neck, and Bitty rocks forward with his hips, seeking contact. Jack pushes back against him, and Bitty groans. “Okay?” Jack says, hands going still because Bitty hasn’t responded.

“Yes,” Bitty says, and his own voice sounds reedy to his ears. He shifts and lets Jack take his shirt off, and then Jack’s big hands are pressing against his sweaty skin, gripping his waist, then sliding up to his chest, fingertips light on Bitty’s throat. He tips Bitty’s head to the side and fits his mouth to Bitty’s neck, kisses soft enough to not leave a mark. Exhaling shakily, Bitty finds the hem of Jacks shirt and tugs. “Off?” he says, feeling lightheaded and a little sick to his stomach. He’s nervous, but Jack’s movements are so sure and easy, he wants to match them. To be just as sure as Jack is.

Jack leans back to pull his shirt off, and Bitty stares at him. His muscles are  _literally rippling_ , and he’s crouched between Bitty’s spread thighs, and he can feel Jack’s bare calves pressed against his own. When Jack settles against him again, Bitty makes a soft noise he can’t control. His heart absolutely pounds in his chest. God almighty, how did this even  _happen_.

“We can stop,” Jack says, but his hips start this maddening rhythm that Bitty quickly falls into, all slow long movements that are too much and not enough. Bitty shakes his head. He definitely does not want to stop, but he’s not sure what time it is, or how long they’ve been in the backseat—the fireworks are still popping, but they’re far and few between now.

“I don’t want to,” he says seriously, “but my mom would probably be pretty suspicious if we stay out too much longer past all the fireworks.”

Bitty’s trying not to think about sleeping that night, because their house is a three-bedroom and the “guest room” is a “let’s put stuff in here that doesn’t go anywhere else room” and Jack will be sleeping on an air mattress next to Bitty’s bed and dear Lord.

Jack breathes in deep, teeth finding Bitty’s earlobe and giving a quick nip. Bitty slaps at his shoulder with a groan. “Don’t you dare,” he mutters. “You know what that does to me.”

“I know,” Jack says, and he’s grinning against Bitty’s neck again. “Why do you think I did it?”

“How dare you chirp me in a moment like this.” He shifts Jack until he can kiss him again, and for another several moments, he forgets about heading home. He’s not sure when they can do something like this again, and he desperately wants to keep going. To see what Jack…what Jack might let him do.

Jack calls him  _Bits_ in this little voice that makes Bitty catch his breath, and they move hands all over one another in such a way that Bitty can imagine, clearly, what it would be like to be naked in bed with Jack, and if he’s honest with himself, even when he masturbates, even when he watches porn, he’s never thought much about what sex with another person is actually like. Masturbation was always a means to an end (sometimes a guilty end, when he thought about Jack before they…started stuff), and he never really thought that anyone would be willing to do this with him at all, or that he’d find someone he wanted to do this with.

So when Jack’s thumb touches at the button of his shorts, his long fingers spread against Bitty’s belly, Bitty makes this embarrassing sound in his throat and hitches his hips forward and up. Accidentally, he thinks, Jack brushes against his cock, hard and trapped in the red denim of his shorts. His breath catches. Suddenly he is very, very aware of their position in the truck, and of how they might continue this exploration further if his shorts were off.

Jack’s breathing is clearly erratic. When Bitty manages to look up at his face, Jack’s focused on his own hand, his thumb, the movement of Bitty’s hips. Even in the dark, Bitty can see that he’s trembling.

“I could,” Jack says, and the sentence sounds half-finished. He has to swallow before he adds, “I could get you off.” 

Bitty bites at his lip so hard it throbs. What will it even feel like, having someone else touch him? He has no idea. He can imagine it incompletely, as though his brain doesn’t want to hope for more. He nods. He nods and nods until Jack kisses him, and now Jack’s hands, so sure before, are clumsy and fumbling as he tries to get Bitty’s shorts undone. 

Jack’s shoulder is strong beneath Bitty’s hand, and he clutches at him, his thighs trying to close on instinct, trapping Jack, who is shaking apart under Bitty’s touch. “I’ve got you,” Jack says, over and over, until Bitty believes it. He tries to relax, but when Jack slides down the zipper, his legs seize again.

“I don’t have to,” Jack says, and Bitty exhales in a whoosh.

“I want you to,” he says, voice small. “I’m just damn nervous.”

They talked about this a little in one of their late night calls. Discussed their experience levels. Jack is  _nowhere near_ what Bitty expected, and Bitty haltingly admitted that, um, no, he hasn’t, uh, done anything? With anyone? Other than, uh, maybe six kisses in his life? And he’s, uh, never really thought about it much? But, um, maybe, he’s…thoughtaboutitwithJacknow?

Jack’s voice is gentle as he says, “I know,” and he kisses Bitty again, his hands very still, until Bitty relaxes enough to let Jack—oh Lord almighty—spread open his shorts and trail fingers across his cotton briefs. His touch is lightning. Bitty arches and makes no sounds, he’s so surprised.

It is so much better than his own hand he wants to die.

Coaxing, practiced, Jack slides Bitty’s underwear down and grips his cock in one hot hand. Bitty bites at his lip again, whole body tensed. Jack’s hand is just  _big_. He’s big all over, and Bitty feels utterly consumed by him in that moment. His vision whites out as Jack tightens his fist and strokes him, and Bitty’s inexperienced body is so overexcited he’s leaking precome  _everywhere_. It slickens his cock as Jack strokes him, the tight curl of his fingers concentrating on the head before pushing down, and Bitty clutches at him for dear life as he pants quietly, body thrumming with exertion.

Somewhere, he’s thinking of an excuse for them being late. They can’t run out of gas—his dad knows how much is in the tank. Can’t use a flat tire excuse because then they’d have to change the tire and what would they do with the old one? They can’t get lost, since Bitty knows his way around so well.

They could, however, stop at the late-night convenience store and say Jack had an ice-cream craving due to the weather, since all the ice-cream had been used after dinner on Bitty’s apple pie. Yes. That’s what they can say. They’ll go get ice-cream so Bitty doesn’t have to push Jack’s devastating hands away.

When he comes, it’s not unexpected, like it seems to be in movies (and books he’s read). He’s ready for it. He knows it’s happening. He looks up at Jack, and Jack’s wrist is moving beautifully quick, and their eyes meet and Bitty sighs and then he’s coming and coming and coming, and when can focus again and he isn’t seeing double, Jack is cleaning them up with the paper towels they keep in the truck.  

Jack looks  _wrecked_. He shakes as he puts Bitty back in his shorts, his touch light and reverent, and then whines when Bitty reaches for him. Jack all but collapses on him, thrusting his hips, and on instinct Bitty grips the back of Jack’s neck, hooks a leg around Jack’s hip, and grinds him closer. Jack loses it. He arches his back and pushes and Bitty can  _feel him_ hard against his own softened, spent cock. Jack makes an obscene noise, a curse, and shudders so hard Bitty is worried he’s hurt himself. Then Jack falls on him, unmoving, those little whines and mews still pouring from his throat.

“Baby?” Bitty murmurs, petting his hair gently. He doesn’t know what he feels right now, but it’s big and warm and spreading in his chest. “Honey, you okay?” 

Jack nods but says nothing. For a moment, Bitty thinks he’s going to fall asleep. Then, “’s good.”

Bitty snorts, fingertips tracing the curve of Jack’s ear, in love with every small part of him that he never gave much thought to before. “You’re silly.”

When Jack can move, he kisses Bitty all over, long, deep, focused kisses, his fingers curled in Bitty’s sweaty hair and keeping him tucked close. Once Bitty is good and breathless, Jack presses one final kiss against his throat and sits up straight.

“I’m a mess,” he says, and his voice is gravelly and very deep. Bitty shivers.

“You are,” he says. “I don’t mind it.”

“Neither do I,” Jack says, and he manages to clean himself up as best as he can. “Good thing my shorts are black, huh?”

Bitty snorts and stretches a little, getting a cramp in his neck from the angle against the door. “I’ll let you shower first when we get home, how about that?”

Jack bites his lip. Bitty wants to lick him. “What are we gonna tell your parents if they ask where we were?” 

“I already thought about that. We’re gonna head to the store and get some ice cream and say you had a craving because it’s just so dang hot and gross outside.” He grins. “It’s the perfect cover, don’t you think?”

There’s something sensual in Jack’s lopsided smile that makes Bitty’s heart jerk. “I’ve got a craving,” he says, “but it’s not for ice-cream.” 

_Oh dear Lord_ , Bitty thinks.  _What have we started with this_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 16 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the numbers meme.

_5\. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”_  

Jack didn’t know there was a difference between envy and jealousy. Envy he’s familiar with; wanting things he’s never had, looking at those Cups of Parse’s (or his father’s) and thinking,  _I want that to be mine_. Envy is easy for him to understand. Some days, it feels like it’s as much a part of him as his gift of hockey, his blue eyes, his dark hair. Some days, he feels like he was born with envy in his bones, making him heavy with burning want. 

But jealousy…that’s different. Jack has never felt jealousy before this moment, standing in the Haus during the first kegster of the year as Eric Bittle’s secret boyfriend, surrounded by tadpoles and frogs and girls with Bitty too far away in the kitchen, baking cookies with Tango. Bitty, who is supposed to be having fun with Jack and who has spent the entire night thus far with Tango.

Bitty, who brings up Tango in some way during every other conversation— _Tango’s been helping me with checking practice, Jack, he’s so much like you and he’s so helpful_ and  _Tango and I were getting coffee the other day and we found out we both take our coffee the same way_ and  _When I was getting froyo, Tango stopped by and helped me find new recipes, Jack, he’s just the sweetest kid, my goodness_. Jack found it cute at first—this little snip of a  _teenager_ coming in and asking his stupid questions and putting that look on Bitty’s face that’s all at once exasperated soccer mom and doting mother hen at the same time. 

But this is enough. Jack has not seen Bitty in person in three weeks, and Bitty would rather bake cookies with Tango than keep him company. He  _knows_ they have to be careful, but do they have to pretend like the other doesn’t exist?

Jack manages to find a lull in the conversation around him and excuses himself to go to the second floor, easing carefully onto the roof with a beer (untouched) in his hand and something hot and prickly in his chest. It takes him a long time to realize that he’s jealous of an eighteen-year-old nerd kid, and when he does he’s ashamed. Bitty loves  _him_ , Jack Zimmermann, and no one else. That much has been clear. So why does he feel like he wants to smash his head into walls?

“Someone said you were up here,” a voice says behind him, and Jack turns to see Chowder gingerly stepping onto the roof. “I didn’t even get to say hi earlier, Jack! You went right by me and I completely lost you. So. Hi.”

Jack gives him a genuine smile, relieved to see a face he recognizes. All these new tadpoles unnerve him. “Hey, Chowder. I’ve missed you.”

Chowder looks like Jack has given him a million dollars. “Oh my  _God_ , Jack! I’ve missed you too!” He sits next to Jack, and together they look out over to the lax bros house, which is oddly quiet for how raucous the hockey team is.

“Too much excitement for you?” Chowder asks, and Jack shrugs. He knows he can’t voice what he’s feeling, but damn does he want to. He wishes he could talk to Shitty so viscerally in that moment he catches his breath, his eyes stinging with warning.

“A bit,” Jack says, and though Chowder can be a chatterbox when he wants to be, he seems content to simply sit with Jack in silence until footsteps make them both turn. Jack’s heart jerks. Bitty just got the chop in their last Skype chat, and Jack can’t get over how…grownup he looks with the fade. At last, his last vestiges of baby fat are gone. His smile is intensely beautiful.

“Chowder, honey, would you mind doing me a favor?” Bitty says, and sometimes Jack thinks that Bitty can use that voice on just about anyone and make them do whatever he wants them to do.

Chowder is, of course, excited at being asked to do anything for Bitty. “Yeah, Bits! What’s up?” 

“I’ve left Tango to watch the new batch of cookies in the oven, but I don’t know if he knows what they look like when they’re done. I know you do, so would you mind helping him while I talk to Jack?”

Jumping as though he’s been scalded, Chowder races back into the Haus, where Jack is certain he’s going to fall down the stairs and kill himself, but then Bitty is sitting next to him, all warm and close and dark-eyed, and Jack simply  _looks_ at him because he can.

“All right,” Bitty says, and he squares his shoulders and gives Jack a stern look. “ _What_  has gotten into your britches, Jack Zimmermann?”

“What?” Bitty’s southern, but he’s never  _this_ southern. Is Tango southern? Ugh. He’s probably southern. Jack hasn’t even spoken to the kid yet, he’s been attached at Bitty’s hip so much.

Bitty takes Jack’s beer and starts drinking it, because he knows Jack won’t. “You know  _exactly_ what I’m talking about. Why are you being so surly? Everyone’s so excited to see you! This party is for  _you_ , Jack, and you don’t seem to be enjoying it much.”

Jack shrugs, his mouth tasting sour as his stomach rolls. “Are you sure you want to leave your new friend Tango alone with the cookies? You guys have worked so hard tonight to make them.”

There’s a long silence that is punctuated only by Holster’s awful music crescendoing through the open window. Jack stares down at his hands, picking at his cuticles. Bitty is so still next to him Jack can almost forget he’s even there. Then,

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

He could deny it, but Bitty knows him too well for that. They’ve done a hundred Skype chats over the summer (technically, a hundred and three), plus phone calls and texts and they’ve Snapped a little when Jack could figure out how to make it work, and all in all there’s virtually nothing that Jack hasn’t told him.

Bitty sighs. “Oh, you sweet, silly boy. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jack says, feeling more sullen than before. Bitty’s hand covers his and Jack glances at him. They have to be so careful. Even this could be too much. But Bitty’s smile is a benediction and Jack clutches at his fingers, needing his touch.

“Jack Zimmermann, do you want me to count all the ways I love you again? I’ll do it, don’t think I won’t.”

“It’s not that,” he argues, and he can feel himself blushing. Bitty did, in fact, spend an hour one night on the phone with him, when Jack was having a particularly bad anxiety attack, listing all the ways he loves him. “It’s not  _you_. It’s him.”

“Hon, if Tango has a crush on anyone, it’s you. You realize what he’s doing, don’t you? He just wants to be like you.” Bitty squeezes Jack’s fingers. “Why don’t you come talk to him a little? He’s real sweet and it’ll make his  _life_.” 

Jack watches him for a long moment, the desire to kiss him so strong it’s like a vice in his chest. He exhales. “I’m sleeping in your room, right?” 

“Yep.” Bitty makes air quotes when he says, “On the air mattress.”

Jack nods. Bitty loves him. And Jack loves Bitty. And just because someone else might want Bitty, Bitty doesn’t want them. He only wants Jack.

So Jack stands and holds out a hand to Bitty, helping him to his feet. If his touch lingers for a few moments, it’s unnoticeable.

“So,” he says, climbing back into the Haus, “is Tango southern, and what’s his favorite pie?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 16 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the numbers meme.

_14\. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”_

Bitty can pinpoint the exact moment Jack goes from ‘acute anxiety’ into ‘fullblown panic attack.’ There’s something in his eyes that seems to disappear, and instead Bitty can tell, even through their Skype video, that Jack is no longer with him.

The conversation before had been about the Falconers’ first home game of the year, and Jack had been talking in increasingly quickened words about how nervous he was, and then suddenly, Bitty got what he’s currently looking at with helpless concern—a Jack with his head in his hands, visibly shaking, and completely unresponsive to what Bitty hopes are soothing, gentle words. He tries to keep his voice soft. He reaches out and touches the screen as though that will help him get through to Jack. Jack starts rocking himself in a steady rhythm and Bitty’s heart pounds in his chest.

“Jack? Jack, baby? Jack, it’s me. Look up at me, honey. Jack? Jack, please? Jack, it’s Bitty. Baby, come on, please? Look at me, sweetheart.”

The little noise Jack makes in his throat is absolutely heartbreaking. Bitty texts him to try to get his attention, and even though he can hear the buzzing and Jack’s three-note text tone, Jack doesn’t stop rocking. Bitty doesn’t know what to do, because in all their time together, Jack’s never panicked in front of him. Bitty doesn’t know why he thought it would be…louder. He thought Jack would be vocal and well,  _panicked_ , but no. It’s like Jack has receded somewhere in his own head and there’s nothing he can do to pull him out.

Bitty doesn’t want to end the video, and he knows Jack won’t answer his phone. So he does what he does best when he’s nervous—he starts talking and he doesn’t shut up. The first thing that comes to mind is his mother—she recently found several old handwritten recipe cards in the attic that proved to be from her own great grandmother and typed them up for Bitty. She wanted them to look nice, though, so she printed them onto index cards and sent them to him by FedEx overnight shipping, and Bitty’s spent all weekend carefully going through the recipes one by one and feeding the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team almost more than even they can eat. The recipes are pretty good, too, but Bitty’s gotten  _great_ at tweaking them to make his own, and soon he’s editing the recipes on new notecards and handing them to anyone who will take them (Caitlin Farmer is his first victim—er, friend—to get copies).

But beyond baking, he’s been working hard at practice, both Ransom and Holster taking turns being his checking partner and making sure that Jack’s hard work doesn’t go to waste. They’re a lot less serious than Jack was about checking practice, but that’s okay, because Bitty doesn’t want them to be the same. What he and Jack had was special, and he wants to keep it that way.

And other than hockey, Bitty’s been working harder at being a better student. It took him a while, but he finally realized that hockey is going to be temporary for him, and he needs to figure out what the hell he wants to do with his future (which, of course, includes Jack), and the business class he’s taking has been  _really_ eye-opening, and he’s already working on a business plan for a bakery. He’s not sure what he’ll call it yet—Lardo is fond of  _Bitty’s_ , Ransom likes  _Game of Scones_ , and Holster can’t shut up about  _Stud Muffins_  (even though Bitty rarely bakes muffins  _or_ scones). His mom thinks he should do something sweet, like  _Pie in the Sky_ , even though he’s told her many, many times that that is  _not_ catchy at all.

“So I’ve got a business plan sort of for class,” Bitty’s saying, “and I’m still working on, you know, tweaking it to make it look real or whatever, and I’ve been looking into things like first-time business loans and what it takes to start up a business and whether it’s better to rent or own, and I know we should be talking about this first, but I’ve been looking around Providence to see what—” 

“I love you.”

The words startle him, and when he focuses on his computer screen again, Jack is looking at him with clear eyes and a calm, if exhausted, tender little smile. Jack is  _back_. Bitty touches his screen, fingertips tracing over Jack’s hair, and if he concentrates hard he can almost feel it soft and thick against his palm. “Baby, you scared me to death. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks for—for just. Talking. Pulled me out.”

“Can you take a Xanax?”

“I did. I’m okay, I promise.” He runs a hand over his hair, mussing it and taking Bitty’s heart right along with it. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I told myself I’d never do that to you, never let you see me like that, and then here I go doing it anyway…”

Bitty leans forward, making sure Jack catches his eyes. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.” 

“Yeah?” That little voice of his sounds both teasing—he knows Bitty doesn’t lie to him—and uncertain. Bitty exhales in a whoosh, propping his chin up on his hand and gazing at Jack’s beautiful, pixelated face.

“Yes, Mr. Zimmermann. Always and forever. You know that.”

Jack’s red and it’s perfect. He clears his throat. “So, uh. I caught something about a great grandmother’s recipes?”

“Oh my  _gosh_ , Jack, they are so  _amazing_! Let me show you some of the pictures I took today.”

And for the rest of the night, Jack keeps looking at Bitty with the softest eyes, and Bitty’s heart hammers away in his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 17 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the numbers meme.

_11\. “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”_

Though Bitty has been in two whole Massachusetts winters, he’s still not use the sheer amount of snow that can fall. And for his first ever trip to Montréal over Christmas, he’s got the same amount of snow except everyone is speaking French. 

Settled inside the Zimmermanns’ kitchen with a mug of hot chocolate, he watches out the bay window in concern as Jack and his dad have a snowball fight. It’s not like anything Bitty could have ever anticipated. They don’t seem to be actually having  _fun_ ; instead, they give each other ten minutes to make as many snowballs as they can, then they start hurling them with little concern for things like ‘faces’ or ‘pain.’

“They do this every year,” Mrs. Zimmermann says, and she takes a seat next to Bitty to watch her husband methodically try to kill her child with snowballs. Bitty is still very nervous around Jack’s parents; they’re the only ones who know about them, and while they’ve been lovely and gracious, Bitty still worries that it’s only for show and they actually don’t approve. But it’s hard to believe that they don’t when Mrs. Zimmermann treats him as kindly as she does, because she doesn’t have to go out of her way to watch him bake a pie and bake one with him, but she does.

Bitty takes a sip of her wonderful hot chocolate and cringes as Jack gets a snowball right in the ass. “They…aren’t holding back, are they?”

“Not at all. Sometimes there’s blood.” She pats the first aid kit she brought from the bathroom. “This little guy right here is a staple in our house during winter. It’s like…they get their aggression out on each other with snowballs and then they get along better for the rest of the time Jack’s here. Stupid, isn’t it?” 

Bitty has to laugh. It  _is_ kind of stupid, but it totally fits the Zimmermann male mentality, and he has fun sitting in the warmth of the house and watching Jack get nailed repeatedly by his dad’s uncanny arm.

Once all the snowballs run out, Mr. Zimmermann turns to the kitchen window and waves at them, motioning for them to come out. Mrs. Zimmermann shakes her head and then looks at Bitty in exasperation. “Every year he tries,” she says, “and every year I say no.”

“His snowballs look painful,” Bitty laughs, and she snorts.

“Oh, that’s not why. I played softball in high school, and I was a pitcher. If I kick his ass, he’ll be grumpy all weekend. I don’t play just to keep the peace.”

Bitty dissolves into laughter at that, and it’s only when Jack comes back inside, soaked with snow and sweaty, that Bitty realizes what’s happening. “Don’t you dare,” he hisses, scrambling out of his chair and running around the table away from Jack, who is  _chasing him_. “I’m not going outside! I’m not throwing snowballs! You’re mean with snowballs!”

“You’re only fast on the ice,” Jack says, when he catches up to Bitty and grabs him around the waist. “Come on, just like five snowballs. It’ll be fun.”

“That doesn’t look fun,” Bitty says, yelping when Jack hefts him fireman style and carries him outside. Mr. Zimmermann is rebuilding his snowball supply as quickly as he can, and when he spots Bitty, he smirks. Bitty’s eyes go wide. He is going to die. “Jack! Oh my God, I’m not even wearing a coat!”

“You’ll sweat in a coat,” Jack says, and he sets him down in a small cleared area of grass. “Now start your stash. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Bitty stares at him. “Are you insane? I have never  _actually_ made a snowball before. I just threw Ransom’s!”

“Good chance to learn, then. Come on.”

Packing the snow isn’t hard or anything, but Bitty’s hands are practically half the size of Jack’s, and so are his snowballs. He chances a glance back at the kitchen window, but Mrs. Zimmermann is nowhere to be found.  _Great_. He’s going to die and he won’t even have any witnesses.

“Two minute warning,” Mr. Zimmermann says. Jack has twenty snowballs already. Bitty has seven. He is sincerely regretting dating this boy.

“I’m calling it,” Jack says, picking up a snowball. “Two minute warning overruled.”

Bitty feels like he does when he’s about to get checked, and he’s frozen as he reaches for a snowball to defend himself. “Don’t you dare throw that snowba—goddammit!” 

Jack hits him right in the shoulder, but it’s gentle compared to the massacre he just committed on his own father. But still, Bitty’s startled by it, and even more by Jack’s belly laugh, which he so rarely hears. He’s delighted for a moment until they both turn as Mr. Zimmermann screams and falls.

He’s just been nailed in the head by Mrs. Zimmermann, whose snowballs are masterfully  _huge_.

“I’m gonna help my dad,” Jack says.

“I’m helping your mom,” Bitty says.

Team Bitty and Mrs. Zimmermann win, and before long they’re back in the kitchen with mugs of hot chocolate again, watching their men dutifully mop the kitchen and put their wet clothes drying.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 17 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the numbers meme.

_15\. “So, I found this waterfall…”_

“And then,” Jack says, gesturing more wildly than he usually does, “we actually get completely lost and turned around, and I don’t know what happened to the GPS but we are lost in the mountains and we have no idea where we’re going.”

Sitting by himself in his room in Samwell, Bitty gives Jack the gasp of shock he knows he’s looking for. He’s exhausted because it’s midnight on the east coast and he was up super early for checking practice with Ransom and Holster, but he wants to hear about Jack’s accidental adventures in the Cascade Mountains outside of Seattle, and so he watches Jack’s animated face and thinks,  _This is my boyfriend_. “Jack, what did y’all  _do_?”

“Well, we kinda just kept driving until we saw a sign that told us Seattle was the other way, but then I wanted to see what this sign led to, so…I found this waterfall…”

Jack spends the next ten minutes telling Bitty how beautiful the Snoqualmie Falls were and how they had so much fun and how amazing it was. Bitty watches him and smiles and doesn’t say much, but Jack seems perfectly content to simply tell him all about his day. Finally, Jack finishes his story with a laugh and says, “I really want to take you to see it.”

“The waterfall?”

“Yeah. And Seattle is really great, I bet you’d like it. They do, like, ferry rides around the Sound and stuff, and there are all these little shops and so many cool bakeries. I had some really good cupcakes at this one place, but nothing close to yours.”

As always, Bitty feels warmth bloom in his chest at Jack’s honest compliments. “You’re sweet to me.”

“I try to be,” Jack says, and Bitty flushes hotly. Lord almighty,  _this boy_.

“I miss you,” Bitty tells him, eyes tracing the stubble on Jack’s sharp jawline and wishing he could put his tongue there. “I’m excited to see you next weekend in Boston.” 

Jack’s smile is so tender that Bitty’s breath catches for a moment. “Me too. Y’all will be there, right?”

Oh, sweet mercy, that Canadian accent hovering over the ‘y’all’ is going to kill Bitty one day. “Yep, all of us. Thanks for the tickets, Jack, I know the tadpoles really appreciate it. They’re so, so excited to meet you.”

“I’m more excited to see you,” he says, and his voice goes soft the way it usually does when Jack is missing him intensely. “I’m really hoping we’ll have at least a little bit of time alone together.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Bitty says, and he never promises Jack anything lightly. “Even just a few minutes so I can hold you.”

Jack closes his eyes, and his shoulders rise and fall as he breathes deep. “I love you, Bits.”

“I love you too, baby. So much. More than you know.”

“Maybe next summer, we can take a trip to Seattle?”

Bitty chuckles, taking a screencap of their Skype conversation when Jack looks up at him with his blue, blue eyes, because he’s so beautiful and Bitty wants to capture him in this moment, that little lopsided smile, the softness of his expression. “Honey, I would literally take a trip with you to the moon if you wanted.” 

“Maybe the moon one day,” Jack says, “but for now, there’s a lot of Earth I’d love to see with you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 17 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the numbers meme.

_1\. “Come over here and make me.”_

The words are probably supposed to be playful, said over a Skype chat when Jack is in Providence and Bitty is in Samwell, but Jack takes it like a challenge.  _Come over here and make me_ , Bitty says, and so Jack closes the lid of his computer and rolls out of bed, hurrying to throw a few things together into a backpack. He is obviously not thinking things through, and in this moment he doesn’t care. He needs to see Bitty. It’s been an entire month since he saw him last, and even then they had all of fifteen minutes together in Providence, with the whole Samwell Men’s Hockey Team visiting for a huge home game.

Now, he leaves so fast he almost forgets to lock his apartment in his desire to get into his truck. He’s already fifteen minutes gone when he answers Bitty’s phone call.

“Jack, is everything okay?” Bitty asks, and Jack’s heart pounds.

“I’m coming over there,” he says, “and I’m making you.”

“…What?” 

Bitty had been talking about his French homework, but Jack has other things on his mind. Some of them include French. “You heard me,” he says, and his voice sounds rough even to his own ears. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Jack, oh my God,” Bitty says, but he doesn’t tell Jack to stop or turn around. In fact, his breathless voice tells Jack everything he needs to know.

Even though he has half an hour to change his mind, Jack doesn’t. He feels acutely  _present_ in the moment in a way he rarely is without Bitty these days, and all he wants is to have one night, one small uninterrupted night, with his boyfriend. That’s it. That cannot be too much to ask for. 

Bitty answers the door to the Haus in his red short-shorts that he sleeps in and a blue Falconers shirt Jack has seen many times on Skype. They’re silent as they can be when they sneak up into Bitty’s room, and Jack knows they’re going to have to be  _very_ quiet, that this isn’t Madison or his apartment, but there’s also something…exciting about it too.

“How are we going to explain this in the morning?” Bitty says, and he presses his tight little body to Jack as soon as Jack drops his backpack onto the floor. Jack wraps him up close, thirsty for way Bitty yields to him so quickly. There’s nothing shy about him or unsure, and there hasn’t been since they started talking regularly in May. Bitty gives wholly of himself, and his generosity and selflessness has sparked something in Jack that had been long hidden. Jack holds nothing back with Bitty, and while that sometimes scares him, mostly it makes him happy.

“I’ll think of something soon,” Jack says, stripping Bitty out of his shirt and pushing him back toward the bed. “I have a promise to keep.”

“I was talking about French,” Bitty says, and he lets Jack ease him back against his pillow, spreading his thighs so Jack can settle between them. Bitty’s already hard, and Jack’s blood thunders right into his cock. God, when was the last time they were even physically together like this? Was it  _Madison_? It had to be.

Jack occupies himself by trailing kisses along Bitty’s jaw and down his neck, hands fitting around Bitty’s narrow hips and rocking their bodies together. Though they’ve only been…this physical together twice before, Bitty enjoys extensive foreplay, preferring to have a long wind-up and a short comedown even on Skype chats when they have a little more time to truly enjoy themselves. 

“Jack,” Bitty says, and he curls one hand at the back of Jack’s head, holding him in place so Jack can suck a brief mark onto his collarbone. They’re careful about the marks they’ve left—always something they can easily hide even in the locker room. Jack still remembers the time Bitty left a bruise on his inner thigh, one that lasted a whole week, and has been eager to receive another one. “Jack, I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You started it,” Jack says, shifting so Bitty can slide his shirt off. Bitty’s hands are firm when they press against Jack’s chest, and they trail down to Jack’s jeans with clear intent. Jack lets him do whatever he wants, and soon he’s got Bitty naked and panting beneath him, both of them straining to make this last, whispering against one another’s mouths and trying to keep the bed from creaking. At last, at last, Bitty shoves at Jack’s underwear, the noises in his throat stuttered and shaky. Cock against cock is unbelievable, and Jack can’t get over how much he loves Bitty’s body, his compact strength so unnoticeable with clothes on but unbelievable with them off. He’s so beautiful it whites out most of Jack’s thought processes until all he can focus on is Bitty’s teeth on his shoulder, his own hand on Bitty’s thigh as he rocks against him, holding him in place so he can fuck against him as hard as he dares. Bitty comes with a whine; Jack feels it spreading between them and he has to swallow down a gasp as he comes right along with him, shaking with the force of it.

As always, even on Skype, Bitty talks him down until Jack can focus again, his voice soft and deeply southern as he croons sweet little words in Jack’s ear, endearment after endearment running into one another, until all Jack hears is  _sweetiebabyhoney_ and Bitty’s little pleased chuckles.

“I thought you wanted to make me do French homework,” Bitty says, fingers tracing the curve of Jack’s ear, sounding deliciously sated.

“I’m Canadian French. I have to count at least a little, right?” This earns him a very enthusiastic kiss, and he gives into it for several long, lovely seconds. “But I really am here to help you with your homework. I want nothing more than to help you with your homework.” 

Bitty cups his face and looks into his eyes, and his smile has made the entire stupid, crazy night worth it. “God, I love you, Jack Zimmermann.”

“I love you too,” Jack says, brushing his lips across Bitty’s forehead. “Now tell me that again in French and we’ll work on your pronunciation.”

He doesn’t even mind it when Bitty punches his shoulder, because Bitty’s laugh is perfect.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 18 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the numbers meme.

_3\. “Please, don’t leave.”_

Bitty’s mouth is such a gift. He uses it in so many different ways that all culminate in Jack being utterly in love with him, whether it’s his soft little endearments or his kisses or his teasing chirps. In Jack’s apartment on a Sunday morning, Bitty is trying to ease toward the door so he can head back to Samwell, but Jack is unwilling to let him go. It seems like Bitty  _just_ got there, and suddenly he’ll be gone again, and Jack will be going on a long roadie and who knows when they’ll see each other next. Jack’s heart seizes when Bitty wraps arms around his neck and holds him closer, his kisses slow and languid.

“Please, don’t leave,” he murmurs, holding Bitty tighter as though that could keep him there. A lot of the time, he’s perfectly fine with their long-distance relationship, because Skype is a thing that exists (after Bitty showed him how to use it) and he gets to see Bitty’s face every day, but each time they can physically be together and then have to separate, it hurts Jack’s heart so much he thinks of all kinds of wild possibilities—like moving back into the Haus and just commuting to Providence, or maybe buying Bitty a car so it’ll be easier for him to go back and forth.

“Baby,” Bitty says, his fingers gentle at the back of Jack’s head, “you’ll see me again before you know it. And we’re Skyping tonight anyway, right? Like we always do? You can’t get rid of me now, you know.”

Jack cups his face and makes sure their next kiss (well, the next ten of them) are really, really good, and they have to be because Bitty clutches at him and whines the way he always does, like he can’t bear to have anymore but can’t resist either. It’s such a good sound that Jack slips him up against the door and tries to pull it out of him again.

“Jack, Lord almighty, you’ve got to stop.”

“Sorry,” he sighs, nuzzling at Bitty’s neck. At least he knows that underneath Bitty’s clothes, where no one but Jack can find them, are beautiful little bruises and teeth marks that show he and Jack did in fact get to spend an entire weekend together. And Jack has matching marks on the inside of his thighs, high and hidden. He shudders. Bitty pets at him again, calls him all sorts of sweet little names, and firmly but softly pushes Jack back.

“You drive me nuts,” Bitty says, and his mouth is kiss-bitten and red and lopsided in a smile. “But dear Lord, do I love you.”

Jack’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he knows it’s the cab downstairs waiting to take Bitty to the train station. Jack’s going to have all of fifteen minutes to get to the rink. “I’ll call you later,” he says, and steals another kiss, two, three, before he finally opens the door and lets Bitty leave.

Then he rushes to the window to watch Bitty slide into the back of the cab, and only once the cab is gone does he finally start getting himself ready for the day.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 18 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the numbers meme.

_22\. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”_

_30\. “It’s not what it looks like…”_

 [AU: Jack is in the NHL, Bitty is a college boy who used to be an Olympic figure skater and is acquainted with Georgia by…well. Unknown means. :x]

 

If Jack’s goal hadn’t been to improve his speed in the off-season, he certainly wouldn’t be here right now. But Jack is nothing if not focused on improving his game, and if that means he’s going to be spending extra ice time with a college boy figure skater, then so be it.

Truth be told, Jack has never seen anyone as fast on the ice as Eric Bittle, or with such quick feet, so he tells himself that this is  _not_ a waste of time, and that improving his speed is going to significantly increase his game, and that if Bittle really wasn’t the best teacher for the job then George would not have recommended him.

“Jack, he’s amazing on the ice,” she’d told him seriously. “It’s gonna blow you away. He won bronze in the Olympics a few years back. Plus, he’ll probably bake some pies for you, and  _that’ll_ blow you away too. I promise you that this is going to be worth it for you.”

He tells himself he’s annoyed because he doesn’t feel like he should be here—it is a weakness that he should not have—but really, he’s annoyed because Bittle is attractive and Jack is a robot, so robots shouldn’t have crushes on their skating tutors, but there it is: Jack has a crush. A big one. Two weeks in and he’s a wreck.

Bittle is a tease on the ice with his fancy footwork and his goading little smiles. He seems to be a flirt but Jack can’t tell if it’s deliberate or if it’s just because he’s so southern. How someone from Georgia ended up in Rhode Island Jack doesn’t know, because Bittle won’t talk about himself much beyond confessing his love for baking and Beyoncé, and their six hours per week together are usually spent working hard. Bittle has a strict routine for Jack, but he does let Jack goof off a little toward the end of the week.

“So are you ready for pre-season?” Bittle asks, skating backward and letting Jack chase him around the ice. Jack’s gotten a little bit faster—maybe ten percent—but he’s still not as fast as this slip of a college boy in his yoga pants and Falconers t-shirt. Bittle, it turns out, enjoys hockey a normal-person amount, but doesn’t fault Jack for his obsessive tendencies.

Jack tries to catch up to him, but Bittle stays just out of reach. It’s a challenge, and Jack loves challenges. “I’m ready,” he says, and picks up his speed as best as he can, laughing when Bittle has to turn around and skate forward because Jack is gaining on him. The thrill of hurtling around an empty rink makes his heart light in his chest, and Jack wonders what he’s going to do when he finally catches up to Bittle, who is still just out of reach.

*

Bittle’s pies are even better than his skating, and Jack enjoys a huge slice of apple pie after one of their mid-day sessions. He feels like he’s earned it at this point, under Bittle’s tutelage for four weeks. He can nearly catch him now, too. Bittle is barely an arm’s length away when Jack really gets going.

“You can take the rest home,” Bittle says, as he packs up his skates for the day. He uses hockey skates so he can be on the same page as Jack, but Jack has yet to see him use his figure skates.

So he asks. “I heard that figure skates are better for, like, speed and stuff, right?”

“Yeah, definitely. And jumps and things. Toe picks come in handy.”

“So how fast are you  _really_?”

Bittle smirks at him, and Jack wants to kiss him so bad. “I might show you one day, but not anytime soon.”

“How come?”

Bittle reaches out and pats his cheek, and Jack is touched so infrequently in the off-season that the warmth of Bittle’s palm surprises him. “Don’t wanna crush your little spirit, hon. I’d obliterate you in my figure skates.”

Jack’s heart revs up in his chest and he leans forward. Sitting on the table like he is, he and Bittle are of the same height, and Bittle’s dark eyes go wide. “Challenge accepted,” Jack says, and he doesn’t miss the way Bittle’s mouth parts at the words. Jack leans back and Bittle leans back. Then Jack feels himself flush hard and has to look away.

Before long, Bittle packs up for the rest of the day and leaves Jack to the rink by himself, where he tries to get a handle on this riot in his chest and push himself harder and further than before.

*

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” Bittle’s voice is a breathless tease as he skates circles around Jack, who’s running suicides and building up his endurance again. Jack flushes. Week ten in the off-season and Jack’s faster than he’s ever been before, but Bittle still eludes him even on hockey skates. He thinks about changing course and chasing him, but that probably won’t end well in his favor. Bittle has an impressive ability to adapt in a fraction of a second, and Jack has yet to catch him off-guard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack pants, when he’s finished his drill and skates off the fatigue. “ _You_ don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know what I’m talking about,” Bittle says, and now he skates side by side with Jack as they roll around the rink. Jack is embarrassed because Bittle’s definitely not wrong. “What do you think about when you look at me, Jack?”

God, but that’s a loaded question. Jack has no idea how he could even respond to that, so he says nothing, focusing on his footwork as he cuts across the rink, trying to shake Bittle off without noticeably shaking him off.

“Jack.” Bittle is suddenly directly in front of him, and Jack has to slide to a stop or risk barreling him over. His chest heaves harder than it should for running his usual drills. “Are you attracted to me or not?”

Jack’s not  _attracted_ to anyone. Either he’s desperately in love or he’s not, and that scares him to death, because he feels something for Bittle and he doesn’t want to admit to himself what it is, because Bittle is temporary—he will not be there beyond this off-season, and Jack can’t do anything halfway. “I’m not,” Jack says slowly, “attracted to you.”

Bittle raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”

“I don’t…I mean, what does that word even mean?” He sounds stupid to his own ears, so he amends with, “It just seems kind of…small, doesn’t it? Attracted. Like a cat to catnip or something.”

“Are you saying I’m your catnip?”

Jack can’t help but to smile. “No.”

Bittle stares skating backward, so Jack follows him—easy, long-legged movements that are much more flirting than they are working. “I think I’m your catnip,” Bittle says. “I think you want me.”

 _Mon dieu._ “I think you need to stop this line of conversation before you get in trouble. 

“Me?” His eyes are wide and impossibly huge and so dark, and Jack can almost believe that he’s innocent save for the smirk on his unbearable mouth. “Never.” 

Jack changes direction on the ice and is followed by Bittle’s laughter.

*

It happens exactly one week before pre-season; Bittle is in his figure skates, and Jack catches him on the ice.

He hadn’t thought previously about what he would do, exactly, mainly because he didn’t know it could happen, and because thinking about those kinds of things were detrimental to his well being. Jack Zimmermann is desperately in love, and though Bittle is a horrible flirt, always teasing and chirping him and remarking on his strong arms and well-built assets, Jack doesn’t think he actually… _means_ any of it.

Bittle has to have plenty of people in his life that want him; Jack has to be one of dozens, he thinks. Hundreds. There are probably a thousand people in the world who would drop at Eric Bittle’s knees and beg for his attention, and Jack doesn’t like sharing.

But Jack catches him. Their race starts as it always does, Bittle skating backward and curling his finger in a come hither motion, and Jack trying to catch him off-guard by only going half-speed and putting on little bursts to close the distance between them.

And then, Jack thinks  _what the hell_ and cuts loose with everything he’s got. Bittle yelps and skates forward in half a second, his powerful thighs bunching, his arms swinging to build momentum. But Jack wants to catch him. He wants to catch him and see what happens when he does, so he gives it everything he’s got until his legs feel like they’re going to snap, and suddenly—

—he grabs Bittle around the waist and spins them so when they crash into the boards, it’s Jack who’s pinned and Bittle who’s caught against his chest. They’re both panting with effort, and Bittle’s cheeks are flushed red, and Jack’s eyes drop down to Bittle’s mouth, and Bittle licks his lips, and Jack meets his eyes again and Bittle isn’t moving—he’s pressed tight to Jack and Jack isn’t letting go. Jack should be letting go. He won. He finally, finally won.

“Um,” a voice says, and Jack’s head jerks behind him, where Georgia is staring at them both with a very embarrassed smile. “I thought I’d bring lunch, but um…it looks like…I’m interrupting…”

“It’s not what it looks like…” Jack starts, but it  _is_ , it’s  _exactly_ what it looks like, and Bittle doesn’t even attempt to move away. 

“Hi,” Bittle says. “What lunch did you bring?”

Georgia looks like she’s trying not to laugh. Jack’s hands tighten reflexively on Bittle’s waist. “Pasta. Jack needs carbs after a workout.”

“Sounds good,” Bittle says. “Wanna have lunch with us?”

“Um…no thanks,” Georgia says, setting the bag of takeout on their usual table. “I’m just going to…leave this here.” 

Jack watches her hurry away and flushes when she shakes her head, because he hears her say, “Jack Zimmermann, I swear,” and he has no idea what she’s swearing or what she means or what’s going to happen now, but Bittle is still in his arms and that is a situation that needs to be addressed immediately.

Steeling himself for a rejection, for heartbreak, he turns back to Bittle to apologize and to release him (reluctantly), but Bittle’s mouth presses to his instead, and his lips are as enthusiastic as he is on the ice, and Jack’s hand moves of its own volition to cup the back of Bittle’s neck, to angle him closer, to kiss him deeper.

Words are overrated anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 18 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the numbers meme.

_37\. “Wanna dance?”_

[slightly canon divergent where Bad Bob did not convince his slow-on-the-uptake son that he’s in love with the tiny blonde baker.]

 

Bitty’s nervous about the trip to Montréal, even if he’s going with the entirety of Samwell Men’s Hockey for Jack’s parents’ wedding vow renewal ceremony. As the designated Wardrobe Consultant for the team, he spends nearly four hours approving outfits before they all set out toward the Boston airport for the weekend—courtesy of Mr. Jack’s Dad.

His main reason for being nervous about the trip, of course, is Jack. It’s only been a week since Jack graduated, and Bitty has spent most of his time telling himself to get over it and part of his time pining so hard it makes his heart hurt. He’s avoided Jack as best as he can with texts, responding late when he knows Jack is already asleep and saying things that  _have_ to sound fake, like, ‘Sorry, I forgot my phone in my room’ or ‘Whoops!! I was baking and lost track of time!’

He thinks that if he can work at putting more distance between them, he can forget how kind Jack is, how thoughtful, he can forget that Jack is handsome and funny and passionate and helpful, that Jack is the best man Bitty has ever known, and that he may only be twenty years old but Jack is  _it_ , Jack is the only person Bitty can truly see himself loving, and he has the worst luck to fall for a boy who is straight. Jack cares about him, he knows that. Jack maybe even loves him. But he is not  _in_ love with Bitty, and that’s one of the worst things Bitty thinks has ever happened to him.

Standing awkwardly off to the side in the beautiful gazebo in the Zimmermanns’ backyard, Bitty surveys the frogs and makes sure that Chowder is not being fed anymore champagne than he can reasonably handle. Twice he rescues Dex from the rather possessive arms of a pair of beautiful French Canadian twins, and he manages to make sure that Shitty is not only presentable but that he dances with Lardo too. 

All in all, it’s the best he can hope for, until he sees Jack pushing through a crowd of people and making his way deliberately toward Bitty.  _Shit_ , Bitty thinks, turning and trying to pretend like he didn’t see Jack. There’s a wall of bodies behind him, but he thinks he can squeeze through okay if he says enough  _Excusez-mois_. 

“Bittle,” Jack calls, and Bitty can’t run away now. He takes a breath and turns to Jack with the biggest smile he can manage. 

“Hi, Jack! Gosh, your parents’ house is so beautiful. Did you help decorate the gazebo? Their renewal vows made me cry, they were so heartfelt! And I just  _love_ the little cupcakes, my goodness! The edible pearls really make it—”

“Bittle,” Jack says, and he’s smiling now and Bitty is falling with crash right down to rock bottom. He might as well start to dig. “Wanna dance?”

It comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. “I don’t dance.”

Jack gives a laugh and holds out his hand. “Yeah, I know that’s a lie.”

Bitty bites at his lip and is silent long enough that Jack drops his hand, looking concerned. “If you really don’t want to,” Jack says, and Bitty shakes his head, telling himself he’s being stupid, that Jack is reaching out to him to get him to have some fun and he absolutely should do that.

“Sorry, I’m just—surprised. That  _you_  dance.”

Jack holds out his hand again and his smile is back. “Come on. I’ll show you how great I am at dancing.”

Jack, in fact, is  _not_ very good at dancing. He’s good at shuffling, and he’s good at keeping one big hand on Bitty’s back and moving them slowly in a sort of circular square shape on the dance floor. The music is something from Sinatra sung by a gorgeous live band, and Bitty’s heart is splintering in his chest as Jack moves closer and closer to him with each ungainly step. They are dancing slow to a faster song, and Bitty keeps his eyes focused on Jack’s shoulder, because if he looks anywhere at Jack’s face he’s going to give himself away.

“Relax,” Jack says, his hand sliding to the middle of Bitty’s back. Bitty can smell his aftershave and it tightens something in his belly. “You’re so tense, Bittle. Just relax.”

“Oh, I’m great!” he says, forcing himself to look at Jack’s face, to really look at him and, inwardly, say goodbye. “I’m really great, Jack, you don’t have to worry about me.” 

“I always worry about you.” The little twinkling lights strung along the gazebo flash in Jack’s dark hair, and in this moment it looks like he’s wearing a halo. “You never seem to have much fun for yourself.”

Bitty swallows hard. “Oh, no. I’m having a wonderful time, really.” He says these things sometimes even when they’re not true, because he hopes that if he says them often enough he might actually believe them. So Bitty puts feeling into it when he says, “I love it here.”

“Bitty.” 

Jack has called him Bittle. He’s called him scrawny (in French, Ransom confirmed), he’s called him annoying (in French, Shitty confirmed). He’s called him Eric before, once, in response to a girl in their class who called him that and Jack had to chirp him for it. Jack has never called him by a nickname, but he does it now and Bitty can’t help but to feel all swooshy in his stomach. 

“Jack.”

Jack smiles. “You want to go take a walk with me?”

“A walk.”

“Yeah. With me.”

“A walk with you.”

Jack laughs. God, but it’s a lovely sound. “Why are you repeating everything I’m saying?” 

“I don’t know,” Bitty says, and his heart beats double time with the singer on the stage saying  _I’ve got you under my skin_. “Jack, why do you wanna take a walk with me?”

Jack’s hand around Bitty’s tightens. Then he laces their fingers together. His eyes are impossibly blue, and Bitty feels like if he looks up he can see the light high above him. Maybe he doesn’t have to dig. “I want to take a walk with you,” Jack says, “so I can be alone with you.”

Bitty exhales in a rush. “Oh my goodness gracious, yes, okay, that sounds great to me, Jack, oh,” and Jack tugs him off the dance floor and gives him a smile that tells Bitty that there is definitely, definitely light above him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 19 April 2016.

_38\. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”_

[AU where Jack is a rookie NHL star (same situation as canon) but Bitty works at his family-owned bakery in Atlanta.]

The little bakery a few blocks from Philips Arena came highly recommended by Tater, who couldn’t shut up about the maple tarts, so Jack—having planned for this the entire week by eating extra healthy—makes a trip to Bittles Bakery to see what all the fuss is about.  _Be sure you ask for Bitty_ , Tater had said.  _He is young, very cute. He make best tarts!_

The bakery is adorable, nestled beside other restaurants and a bar, and the sign is pastel and new and welcoming. He pushes through the door and a little bell jingles his entrance. A head pops up from behind a massive glass counter, and this head belongs to a young man with blonde hair and very big brown eyes.

“Hiya!” he says, and Jack doesn’t think he’s ever met somebody so chipper. “Welcome to Bittles! You’re a new face, what can I get you?”

Jack’s caught off-guard by his exuberance and says, “Uh,” then, “A friend recommended this place, um. He really liked the maple tarts? Made by Bitty?”

The man extends his hand and Jack shakes it warily. “Hi, I’m Bitty. I knew you were gonna ask about the maple tarts.” He winks, and Jack is instantly charmed. “If you give me about five minutes, they’ll be fresh out of the oven. How does that sound?”

“That sounds fine.” Jack shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts and surveys what’s already in the glass case. There are five or six different kinds of pies, more little tarts, pastries, scones, muffins, cupcakes, and all the signs are printed neatly and colorfully inviting. He likes how clean it is in here too, and the yellow paint on the walls makes him feel calm. It’s even nicer than all the other nice places in downtown Atlanta.

Bitty leans on the counter and gives Jack a smile. “Are you ready for the game tonight?” 

Startled, Jack finds himself unsure of what to say.

Laughing, Bitty says, “Oh, come on. Like I don’t know who you are, Mr. Zimmermann. With the bakery where it is, we get y’all hockey players in here all the time. I bet Tater was the one who recommended the maple tarts, right? Every time Providence is in town, I bake an extra four dozen just for him.”

Jack smiles a little. “Yeah, he did. Apparently your bakery is kind of a staple for the entire NHL.”

“Oh, we know. My mom wants to do a huge campaign about it and glorify cheat days, but I told her she’s nuts.” He shakes his head and plucks something from inside the case, handing Jack the tiniest, most perfect little pie he has ever seen. He could fit four of them in the palm of his hand. “Eat that while your tarts finish. It’s my maple-sugar-crust apple pie. You’re Canadian, you’ll love it.”

Taking a bite out of it seems stupid, so Jack puts the whole thing in his mouth and chews slowly. Before he can ask, Bitty has already poured him a cup of water and pushed it toward him. Jack chews and chews and chews and finally swallows and says, “Oh my God.” He’s never been excited about food before, because food is there for sustenance, to help rebuild aching muscles or give him fuel for work. But this is different. This tastes of passion and dedication and skill, and he takes a swig of water but looks at the glass case again to see what other kinds of tiny pies he can eat. 

Bitty is already pulling something else out of the case. “Here you go, honey,” he says, and Jack flushes deeply from head to toe. “I hope you came here hungry. Try this one. Fresh pumpkin pie, all spiced up for fall. I bet y’all have a much prettier fall in Rhode Island than we do here, huh?”

Jack eats the pie before he responds, leaning heavily on the counter with his eyes closed as he chews. “Yes, it’s very nice up there. Have you…ever been?”

“Hon, I have never left the great state of Georgia.” He snorts. “But one day, though, I will. Just working on saving money right now.”

Jack doesn’t know what it’s like having to save money, so he doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, he looks back into the case. God, he’s pathetic, he’s never been a foodie before. “You need to leave Georgia, you know. Lots of other good places out there.” 

“Believe me, I  _know_.” He gives Jack another big smile before saying, “Let me go get your tarts, okay?” As he steps into the kitchen Jack realizes with a  start that the floor behind the counter is raised—he and Bitty had been speaking eye to eye. But now he sees that Bitty is half a foot shorter than he thought he was.

Jack’s heart makes itself known in his chest, rustling uncertainly. Bitty is definitely cute; Tater was not wrong about that. Embarrassed with himself, he runs a hand through his hair and waits for Bitty to come back, which he does, shortly, and with a Tiffany-blue box all wrapped up in white ribbon. 

“For Tater,” Bitty says. “Tell him I expect payment before he leaves town, and he best not skip out.”

“Do you always make the pastries?” Jack says, examining a fresh tart and marveling at the smell of it, all syrupy thick and buttery, the crust a perfect browned gold.

“Yep. My parents are semi-retired by this point, so I’m usually the one that runs the shop most days.” He gives Jack a tilted head and another dazzling smile. “Take a bite. If you’re disappointed, I’ll burn the place down.”

“I doubt that’ll be necessary,” Jack says, and he takes a bite of the tart before bowing his head as he chews. There are words for what he’s experiencing, but usually they’re saved for religious context. “Oh my  _God_.”

“Right?” Bitty sounds pleased. “There’s a reason all y’all come beggin’ round for my tarts.”

Jack looks up at him, serious. “I never get like this about food.”

“That’s a pity. You should. My food’s good.”

“It is. It really is.”

Jack ends up getting a dozen tarts for himself, in addition to the ones already boxed for Tater, and he cleans out all of Bitty’s tiny pies too, and the next day before they leave for the airport after beating the Thrashers, Jack comes back and samples more treats, pleased that he and Bitty are, once again, alone. 

This time Bitty’s cleaning the tables and he gives Jack a brilliant smile. “Hey, handsome. Nice win.” 

“Thanks.” Jack moves to the case to see what’s there, and is pleased that it’s different from yesterday. One of the tiny pies seems to be lemon, and his mouth waters expectantly.

“I see how it is,” Bitty says, and he comes to stand next to Jack with his arms folded across his chest. “You come here for my treats and not for me.”

Jack wonders if he’s flirting, but realizes he certainly doesn’t mind. He’s not very good at flirting himself, but he tries anyway. “You’re a bonus.”

“Oh?” Bitty looks delighted at that, his cheeks deeply pink, and Jack finds himself blushing right back at him in return. He feels awkward. He shouldn’t feel awkward. He’s twenty-five, not fourteen. “Well, that’s nice. Come over here and let me feed you.”

There’s no complaint from Jack there—he deliberately skipped breakfast for the first time in years so he could come in extra hungry, and if he ends up doing three hours of running later, it’ll still be worth it. “I’ve been thinking about those maple tarts.”

“I figured you’d stop by before your flight. Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty for you to take.” Bitty pauses, hesitating by the door into the kitchen. “You wanna come see the kitchen?”

He does, in fact, want to see where the magic happens, and if Bitty is offering an invitation, Jack is happy to take it. He follows Bitty into the kitchen and marvels at all the shiny metal, spotlessly clean, and all the myriad tools a chef needs that Jack thinks look a mix of cosmetic supplies and torture devices. Bitty opens the oven and pulls out fresh tarts, letting Jack hover around him. Bitty himself smells like baking, and Jack wants to know if the strands of his hair hold onto the buttery sweetness even after he’s left for the day. What does his skin hold onto? Is it as soft as it looks?

The heat of the oven opening makes Jack feel dizzy, or maybe it’s Bitty, but regardless he finds himself tipping a little sideways, and before he knows it he’s swooned and is caught by surprisingly strong arms that hold him up.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Bitty asks, and he sounds like he’s straining to hold Jack’s weight, so Jack does the easiest thing he can think and he slides boneless to the floor, Bitty following him all the way so he doesn’t smack his head on the tile, and then Jack is looking up at Bitty’s dark eyes, and Bitty’s smile is crooked. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Jack says, feeling bold, “but since I’m already here, I’m thinking we should exchange numbers.”

Bitty’s blush is very lovely and he gives a chuckle. “That’s an excellent idea…once I get you some smelling salts. Good Lord, Jack, you dropped like a sack of flour.” 

Jack shrugs, still feeling lightheaded, but it’s definitely because of Bitty and nothing else. His arms are incredibly comfortable. “It was worth it,” he says, and Bitty’s laughter goes straight into his heart, which is finally, finally starting to wake up.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 20 April 2016.

_2\. “Have you lost your damn mind!?”_

When Bitty opens the front door after hearing a very polite knock, he’s not sure what he’s expecting—lax bros, maybe, who can smell his baking through the open window and have gotten drunk on watermelon vodka to ring in the spring. But he’s shocked,  _shocked_ to see that it’s Jack, looking boyish in jeans and a plain gray t-shirt, with an expression on his face that Bitty has seen in their Skype conversations—usually followed by Jack confessing his love and how much he misses him.

Before he can even speak, Jack has taken Bitty in his arms and kissed him with the door wide open, with Ransom and Holster and Tango and Whiskey and Chowder in the living room fighting over Cheetos, with the lax bros lounging drunkenly on the lawn across the street. Jack has kissed him,  _then dipped him_ , then kissed him again.

The catcalls are instant, and if Bitty had his phone on him he knows it would be blowing up with chirps in the group text. When Jack’s mouth finally releases his, Bitty is boneless in his arms. “Have you lost your damn mind?!”

Nobody knows! Nobody knows about them! It’s been nearly a year now and Jack’s parents know and  _his_ parents know, but certainly not the  _lax bros_ , and Bitty thinks he’s going to have a heart attack.

“I’m coming out,” Jack says.

“What, right now?!”

“Maybe.” He kisses Bitty again, and Bitty can’t deny that it’s…well.  _Very nice_ , if he does say so himself. “We talked about it.”

“I know we did, but maaaaaybe I did not expect it to happen  _right now_.”

Bitty feels the presence of human beings and looks up and around to find the core of the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team sharing Cheetos and staring at them.

“This is a surprising twist,” Holster says, adjusting his glasses as though that will help him see the situation better. “But honestly, I’m not surprised. Jack calls you more than Tango asks questions.”

“I ask a lot of questions?” Tango says, which isn’t really a question at all.

“Guys,” Bitty says, still dipped and light on his feet, “this is my boyfriend, Jack Zimmermann.”

“Something tells me,” Ransom says, “that Johnson probably saw this coming.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 20 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For annundriel, who loved the AU ficlet in chapter 9 so much she wanted to know more of Bitty's side of things. I love you, peanut.

Bitty knows this is an important lunch when Georgia wears a skirt and heels instead of her usual pantsuit. She orders salads for both of them and gets Bitty a Coke without asking, because they’ve had enough of these lunches over the last two years that she knows him very well.

“So,” Bitty says, after he’s sipped his Coke, “who am I working with this time?”

Georgia gets very serious then. “Jack Zimmermann.”

Bitty’s heart jerks in his chest. Oh, boy. Jack Zimmermann. The beautiful, surly center with the piercing blue eyes, great ass, and infamous monosyllabic interviews. Jack Zimmermann has been Bitty’s primary hockey crush for nearly five years. And Jack Zimmermann is notoriously a hardass on the ice. “I want to volunteer as tribute,” Bitty says, “but he kind of scares me? George, what am I supposed to even do with him?”

“Oh come on, Bits, what do you do with every hockey player I send your way? He needs to improve his speed and footwork, and I know you’re the man for the job.”

“But he’s Jack Zimmermann, not some underfed rookie.”

“Do I have to remind you that you worked with Sidney Crosby for four weeks and he credited you personally?”

Bitty sighs happily, remembering the ESPN interview very well. “God, he is attractive.”

“Bits. Focus.”

“Right. Jack Zimmermann.” Bitty takes another long swallow of his Coke. “I guess I’ll take him on.” 

George sips her lemon water and gives him a smile. “Jack’s not quite as much of a robot as he looks. He’s a pretty funny guy.”

“Funny. Jack Zimmermann.” Oh,  _Lord_ , is that an untrue statement.

“I’m serious! He’s more of an anxious little dork than anything else.” She waits until Bitty is done laughing before adding, “And he’s going to take what you tell him as gospel, because Jack Zimmermann is serious about his work and he’s going to enjoy working with you too. I promise you that.”

Bitty shrugs, diving into his salad with gusto. Honey mustard and crispy chicken—George truly does love him. “I can’t make any promises, but sure, I’ll work with him for the summer.” 

“You’ll be well-compensated,” she promises, and  _that_ is why Bitty spends his summers in Providence teaching hockey players how to be figure skaters.

*

Bitty’s watched all the interviews, and he has copies of all the magazines. To say that he’s obsessed with Jack Zimmermann is a gross exaggeration, but not by all that much.

It takes everything he has not to wear his Zimmermann jersey to their first practice hour on a Tuesday. Instead, he’s in black yoga pants and a black t-shirt, wearing his hockey skates so he and Jack can be on a more equal footing. Jack is early, but that’s okay because so is Bitty, skating around on fresh ice and warming up.

“Morning,” Bitty calls to him, hoping he is visibly more calm than he feels. Working with Sid was one thing, but Jack is a whole different level of attractive. Bitty’s kind of always liked the brooding guys with sad eyes, and Jack is the king of them all.  “I’m Bitty. I’m assuming George has already talked to you about what our goals are?”

Jack Zimmermann, holy god, laces up his skates and slides onto the ice and toward Bitty. The closer he ventures, the bigger he looks, and Bitty skates backward so Jack can’t get too close to him. “Yes,” he says, and Bitty thinks that’s all he’s going to say until he sighs. “I have a weakness that we need to overcome if I’m expected to play at the highest caliber.”

“It’s not a weakness,” Bitty says automatically, his years of coaching youth figure skating getting the best of him. “You need to think of it as an opportunity. You already have so many skills, Jack. The fact that you need improvement somewhere is a good thing. Because it means you will be better after I’m done with you.”

“What’s the agenda?” he says, and Bitty is grateful that Jack is all business, because damn does he look good in track pants and his tight Falconers t-shirt.

Bitty picks up speed around the rink and doesn’t miss when Jack does too; apparently Jack’s thirst for competition is as fierce as he’s heard and seen in games. “First, we warm up. Then, we’re going to work on your footwork. The better you are with your feet, the faster you can be. Make sense?” 

“What sort of footwork?”

“Fancy footwork,” Bitty says, and he winks because he can’t help himself. “We’re gonna give you twinkle toes, big boy. And you’ll be grateful for them.”

Against all reasoning, Jack Zimmermann blushes.

*

Not only do they work well together, but Jack is…fun to be around? Bitty didn’t expect it, but when Jack loosens his vice-like grip on himself, he’s got a good sense of humor and is kind of a joy on the ice. Two weeks in and Bitty is in  _serious_ trouble, because he’s had a crush on the guy for years, and now that he’s working so closely with him every day, and watching Jack  _improve_ every day, it’s like his crush has escalated into full-blown infatuation. Bitty is a smitten kitten and Lord does he hate it, because it will go  _literally nowhere_.

“So are you ready for pre-season?” he asks, making sure that he stays just faster than Jack, though he’s actually working a bit harder at it now. Jack has gotten a  _lot_ better than Bitty expected him to, and in a much shorter amount of time. Sometimes Bitty thinks that Jack Zimmermann works harder than God.

“I’m ready,” Jack says, and he gets that lopsided smile on his face that tells Bitty what he needs to know—Jack is going to put on a burst of speed and try to catch him, a little game they’ve recently started, so Bitty turns around and skates forward because otherwise Jack Zimmermann is going to grab him and throw him into the boards like he does on the ice, and while Bitty would like to be thrown around by Jack Zimmermann, he maybe does not want lingering injuries from it. 

Jack’s laughter rings around the rink, and Bitty’s stupid little heart is a mess, and Jack almost catches up to him but Bitty is still faster, and one day Bitty thinks that he won’t be, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do when that day comes. 

*

Since Bitty is a boy who shows his affection by feeding people, he gets comfortable enough with Jack to start baking him things. At first he expects Jack to refuse, because his diet is just as strict as his schedule, and the Falconers’ nutritionist worships him and his dedication. But when Bitty brings apple pie and offers to share some with Jack, Jack cuts himself an enormous slice and goes to town. Bitty has a problem with watching Jack eat the pie, because Jack has roughly four, maybe five, facial expressions, and this one is new—it’s practically  _rapturous_.

“You can take the rest home,” Bitty tells him, focusing on packing up his things so he doesn’t say something stupid and forward and very flirty. Like,  _You can take me home too if you want_. Ugh.

Instead, Jack is quiet for a moment, and when Bitty looks up he sees that Jack is watching him pack up his skates. “I heard that figure skates are better for, like, speed and stuff, right?”

“Yeah, definitely. And jumps and things. Toe picks come in handy.” One day he’s going to show off some of his jumps and spins to Jack, but he thinks they should focus first and foremost on his training. 

“So how fast are you  _really_?” There’s something in his voice that makes Bitty tingle all over, and Jack’s eyes are very intense. He’s curious. He wants to know. That’ll probably end up being his goal before the off-season is done— _Beat Bittle on figure skates_.

Trying to cover up the thunder in his body, Bitty says, flippant, “I might show you one day, but not anytime soon.”

Jack doesn’t look pleased by that. “How come?”

Bitty’s hand moves on its own, reaching for Jack; at the last moment, instead of touching Jack’s parted, sugary mouth the way he wants, he pats his cheek. It’s a condescending gesture and he knows it, but his body wants to flirt with Jack Zimmermann, and Jack Zimmermann does not seem to mind much. “Don’t wanna crush your little spirit, hon. I’d obliterate you in my figure skates.” 

Jack leans forward. He’s within six inches of Bitty’s personal space now, and Bitty has done such a good job before this at keeping Jack away, but first his own body has to betray him, and now Jack. Jack, who is leaning forward, who is within six inches of Bitty’s personal space, who is looking at him with something like fire behind his eyes. Bitty wants to kiss him. The last time someone looked at him like that, Bitty got fucked for three hours. “Challenge accepted,” Jack says, and Bitty gives a soft, shaky little exhale. His ribcage feels like it’s gonna split at any moment from the force of his own beating heart, and there are a few seconds there where he thinks that Jack is really, seriously going to kiss him, but then Jack leans back and Bitty leans back too, and Jack goes so red it’s almost comical, and he averts his eyes and bites his lip.

They don’t say much after that, other than Bitty telling him  _bye, see you in the morning_ , and he leaves Jack to skate alone around the rink, and Bitty barely makes it home before he gets his cock out, hard as a rock, and jacks himself to the point of seeing stars.

*

Week ten is a turning point for Bitty. Ever since the Pie Incident, as he calls it privately, he’s noticed Jack noticing him. He’s caught Jack looking at him several times, and that wouldn’t be anything special or unique if Jack hadn’t immediately looked away, clearly a kid caught with his hand being the cookie jar, and in this case the hand is Jack’s eyes and the cookie jar is Bitty’s ass.

Jack has never been clear about his sexuality. There had been rumors when he was younger that he might be gay, but Jack never confirmed  _or_ denied them, and Bitty frequents those trashy NHL blogs enough to know that Jack has never been spotted with  _anyone_ of a romantic nature—male or female. Most recently, the buzz is that Jack is asexual, but he  _did_ have an answer for that in an interview: “That’s none of your business.” Which it  _isn’t_. But Bitty thinks that if Jack is asexual or straight, he doesn’t seem like he’d be an asshole about it if Bitty were to straight-up (no pun intended) ask him about this newfound fixation of Jack’s on Bitty’s assets. 

So he does. He asks. They’re skating together like usual and Bitty is being a flirt like usual, and he’s using all his fancy footwork that Jack is improving on but still clumsy with, and Bitty says, his heart dumping right into his stomach, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” He’s literally skating circles around Jack as Jack runs suicide drills, and he has to be careful not to let Jack run into him. It’s an exercise for both of them—how well do they know one another’s movements to not have a collision.

Jack doesn’t respond until his drill is over and he’s panting, wiping at his sweaty face with his shirt, which pulls up and shows off his  _unbelievable six-pack, Jesuuuuus_. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack says breathlessly, starting to skate slowly to ease the tension in his muscles. “ _You_  don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bitty slows down so they can skate side by side, pretending like he’s an actor playing the role of Eric Bittle. What would that actor say in a moment like this? In a  _movie_ like this? “I know what I’m talking about,” Bitty says, hands behind his back as he skates in long, smooth movements. “What do you think about when you look at me, Jack?”

Jack’s silent, the back of his neck all pink. He changes direction quickly, cutting across the ice and clearly attempting to shake Bitty off. So Bitty follows him, matching strides. Then he cuts Jack off, and Jack has to either slide to a stop or run over him. Jack stops. Bitty looks up at him and tells himself he is Very Mature and he can Do This. “Jack. Are you attracted to me or not?”

Something very complicated is going on with Jack’s face, and his face is not one that’s used to complicated processes. He looks at Bitty, then away, then up at the ceiling, then down at the ice, then at Bitty again, then down at the ice. “I’m not,” he says very slowly, as though the words are foreign and uncomfortable in his mouth, “attracted to you.”

He doesn’t sound like he means it, so Bitty asks, “Are you sure about that?” because he needs some clarification here, he can’t have Jack starting to explain what  _attraction_ is then listing all the ways he feels  _different than that_ because for Bitty’s it black or white—the answer is yes or no, and Jack’s tone is a maybe.

“I don’t…I mean, what does that word even mean?” He looks incredibly frustrated with himself as he runs a hand sharply over his sweaty hair, exhaling in a whoosh of frustration. It’s so  _cute_. “It just seems kind of…small, doesn’t it? Attracted. Like a cat to catnip or something.”

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Bitty’s heart blossoms and he smiles a little, feeling something very intense for this silly boy right now. “Are you saying I’m your catnip?”

Jack says no, but he’s very red about it.

Bitty starts to skate backward, and just like he expected (hoped?) Jack follows him immediately, as though he is drawn on a string. “I think I’m your catnip,” Bitty teases. “I think you want me.”

Jack is visibly shaken, and it’s shaken in a good way—he looks invigorated, nervous, but there’s a smile creeping at his lips, and Bitty has seen him shaken in a bad way—anxiety attack after losing the Cup comes to mind—but this…this is attractive as  _hell_. “I think you need to stop this line of conversation before you get in trouble,” he says, and he sounds so Canadian Bitty wants to tease him some more and coax out all his luscious syllables. 

“Me?” Bitty says, giving Jack his very best totally innocent I didn’t do it face. “Never.”

Jack suddenly wheels and changes direction from him, and Bitty can’t help but to laugh.

*

It was bound to happen eventually. Jack had gotten too good and too quick over their summer together, and finally it happens—finally, with Bitty in his figure skates, Jack catches up to him. Jack grabs him. Jack has him pinned to his stupid muscular chest and Bitty is all kinds of interested and turned on, and Jack looks exhilarated and breathless and pleased as punch, and then they’re interrupted, and then they’re not, and Bitty can’t fucking  _take it_ anymore because Jack’s signals aren’t even signals anymore—they’re fucking spotlights in the sky directing him home, so he kisses Jack Zimmermann, NHL center for the Providence Falconers, he kisses Jack and Jack kisses him back, and his kisses are just as intense and just as passionate as everything else he does, even will all he’s doing is eating pie, and Jack’s hand cups the back of Bitty’s neck and his mouth is like a goddamn assault and Bitty simply gives in and lets Jack take and take and take, and—

—and they leave the rink after that, together, Bitty’s car parked in the empty lot because he and Jack always get private ice time, and in Jack’s car Bitty slides his hand up Jack’s thigh just to tease him more, and Jack shifts in his seat but he doesn’t tell Bitty to stop, and he breaks at least four laws on the way to an apartment building Bitty doesn’t recognize on the south end of town, and there’s a garage underneath the building and Jack parks in a spot that says 2302, and it must be his apartment, obviously, Jack has taken him home with him the way Bitty wanted before, and oh God—

—Jack is not at  _all_ what Bitty thought he’d be like in a moment like this, he’s not shy or reserved or even blushing, no, he’s all aggressive hands and mouth, coaxing and claiming, getting Bitty into his apartment and then shuffling him toward the bedroom, stopping every few moments or so to ask “Okay?” and Bitty is interested by the moments of consent, the way Jack has to ask him if it’s all right before he does something but the moment Bitty says “’s fine, yeah, okay” Jack is like a muscle car slamming into overdrive with his eager body, pressing against Bitty with brawny heat that is just delicious, and—

—fuck, fuck, Jack’s mouth is a sin and a curse as it trails across Bitty’s quaking body, and he strips Bitty of his clothes (“Okay?” “Yes!”) and they rock together and grip each other and pant into one another’s mouths, and Bitty has Jack’s cock hard and fervent in his hand and before he knows it Jack has pushed him away, slid down, he’s taken Bitty’s cock into his mouth and works over it like he does this all the time, and Bitty grips at his hair and closes his eyes and he comes with a shout, but that’s not enough because Jack, Jack hasn’t come yet, Jack’s got a hand on himself and is sucking at mark into Bitty’s tender-skinned neck, and Jack comes all over Bitty’s stomach, shooting so hard his back twists, and Bitty coaxes him in for long, slow kisses, waiting until Jack isn’t panting anymore before saying, “More?”

And they start all over again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 21 April 2016.

_35\. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”_

Bitty wakes up in Jack’s Providence bed alone, but that’s okay because he’s still in Jack’s bed, and he and Jack got to spend an entire night together completely alone in a way they hadn’t gotten to before. Their Madison trip was fraught with tension—what if they got caught? What if they were too loud? Bitty was so nervous they really didn’t get a chance to…explore much.

But last night, he stayed over for the first home game of the year (the entire Samwell Men’s Hockey Team was there in their own cheering section, chirping the hell out of Jack) and he and Jack spent…quality time together. For  _hours_. Bitty had never done much beyond awkward kissing until Jack, and Jack has more than made up for lost time. Jack has shown Bitty things that he likes that Bitty would’ve never guessed.

Like, he thinks, when he shifts and feels that particular soreness,  _this_. He flushes happily and settles further into Jack’s blankets, cuddling with his pillow just to smell his shampoo. God, this boy.

He jerks up hard when he realizes that what he also smells is something cooking. Bitty is still in bed, so there is literally no reason why he should smell anything cooking. Jack does  _not_ cook—he can make sandwiches and toast bagels, but that’s about it.

Racing out of bed to see if Jack is going to burn the place down, Bitty stops as soon as he sees what’s going on in the kitchen.

Over the summer, Bitty’s Aunt Carol had given him an apron as a joke—camo-printed, with camo-ruffles, and in bright red letters across the front it says STUD MUFFIN. He brought it with him to school because he actually  _does_ need an apron and Bitty cannot accept a gift without actually using it, and so though the chirping was nigh unbearable, Bitty wears the apron when he cooks. 

Jack is wearing this apron as he flips pancakes.

“What are you doing?” Bitty asks. Jack is half-hidden by the kitchen island, but Bitty can see that he is…shirtless beneath the apron, and that’s not bad at all. 

“It’s called making pancakes,” Jack says, all deadpan, and Bitty’s heart piddles itself with love.

“You’re wearing my apron.”

“It was convenient.”

“Jack. Take it off.”

Jack looks over at him, all tousled from sleep still, and he  _smirks_. Oh Lord. “What did you say to me?” It’s such a challenging tone, and it makes Bitty shiver a little.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

“All right,” he says, and Bitty did not expect Jack to give in so easily—he kind of hoped they might wrestle for it. But then Jack unties the apron and lets it slide off and—

—that’s when Bitty realizes that Jack was not wearing anything under the apron at all, so he moves around the island to get a better look and, yes, Jack Zimmermann is cooking breakfast without any clothes on whatsoever, naked as the day he was born.

In all of his wildest dreams, Bitty never thought about this. To be honest, he never thought about actually having sex with Jack much—that was such an impossibility that the most he ever fantasized about was maybe making out, especially when Jack would stand so close to him at Haus parties because Jack could’ve just as easily pushed him up against a hard service and gone to town. But now, Bitty realizes that he was  _seriously missing out_ where his fantasies were involved, because Jack is cut from marble, all the long, hard lines of him perfectly proportioned, and oh dear Lord his—his cock is  _hard_.

“At least you’re not making bacon,” Bitty says stupidly, and Jack gives him a questioning look. “Grease splatters don’t seem like they’d be fun, uh. Like that.”

Jack throws his head back in a laugh and Bitty wants to melt. Jack is so lovely when it’s just the two of them. He’s so  _funny_  and unbearably sweet, and Bitty finds himself moving closer, feeling distinctly overdressed in his red sleep shorts, his Zimmermann shirt, and white socks. “It’s sweet you’re making me breakfast,” he says, and Jack’s watching him with adoring eyes.

“I’m trying. Can’t do much more than pancakes, though.” 

“They’re probably gonna get cold.”

Jack raises an eyebrow again and Bitty steps up to him, looking up at that face that is now very much his. Jack’s breath hitches. He’s very expressive now that Bitty knows what to look for. “Why—why would they get cold?”

Bolder than he feels, Bitty drops to his knees, looking up and up at Jack. He’s almost too short for this, good Lord. Jack’s feet are planted shoulder-width apart, and his obscenely thick cock is right in front of Bitty’s parted mouth, so he doesn’t let Jack question this or get nervous (Jack is nervous in bed until he’s warmed up), and he doesn’t let  _himself_ get nervous either, and he knows Jack is not currently cooking any pancakes so he slides his mouth over Jack’s cock and pretends like he’s done this before.

It’s not exactly rocket science, he realizes, gripping the base of Jack’s cock and playing his tongue over the sensitive head. Jack’s done this to him a couple of times, and now that he and Jack have…done more…together…he’s more comfortable with it himself.

The response from Jack’s body is instant and intense. He makes a noise—he rarely makes noises—and puts a huge palm at the back of Bitty’s head, not pressing or holding but resting, shaking, as though he doesn’t trust himself. Bitty takes in as much as he can before gagging, pulling away with a deep inhale before sliding over him again. Jack smells clean from a shower and distinctly aroused, the warmth of him heady. Bitty likes being crowded by him—another thing he learned in bed—and he grips Jack’s ass with both hands and works his way down little by little.

Neither of them have much stamina at this point, still too eager and new and overstimulated, so when Jack comes it’s quicker than Bitty would’ve liked, but he knows he’ll get the chance to try again later. Jack makes no noises and Bitty knows it’s just the way he is; soon, though, he intends to make sure Jack gets as loud as humanly possible. He has a few ideas on how to make that happen, and if this didn’t work, something else definitely will. 

He stands on shaky legs, and Jack grips him by the waist and lifts Bitty into his arms, shuts off the stove, and carries him back into the bedroom. Thrilled by Jack’s strength, Bitty goes boneless and lets Jack touch him all over. “I thought you were making me pancakes,” Bitty says, laughing breathlessly when Jack tosses him on the bed.

“We can reheat them later,” Jack says, and now it’s Bitty’s turn for some of Jack’s much-discussed focus and attention.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 21 April 2016

_18\. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”_

 

**Beautiful Motherfucker**

Hey shits are you around

_2:14 PM_

**Shitty BK**

yeah gorgeous what’s up

_14:14 PM_

**Beautiful Motherfucker**

I need your help

 _2:15 PM_  

**Shitty BK**

i hear they make medication for that brah also u can ask bits

_14:15 PM_

**Beautiful Motherfucker**

I don’t understand you. You don’t know what I was going to ask

_2:17 PM_

**Shitty BK**

i assumed it was sexual

_14:17 PM_

**Beautiful Motherfucker**

It’s not. I need your help with something not gross

 _2:18 PM_  

**Shitty BK**

i’m offended what’s up

_14:19 PM_

**Beautiful Motherfucker**

I want to propose to Bits

_2:21 PM_

**Beautiful Motherfucker**

Are you there

_2:29 PM_

**Shitty BK**

sorry i just died and have now been resurrected ARE YOU SERIOUS

_14:29 PM_

**Beautiful Motherfucker**

Well yeah???

_2:32 PM_

**Beautiful Motherfucker**

It’s been four years that makes sense right. It’s not too soon right.

 _2:32 PM_  

**Shitty BK**

ummmmmmm you guys are practically ancient NO it’s not too soon how do you want to do it

 _14:33 PM_  

**Beautiful Motherfucker**

Let me call you. I don’t want this written down anywhere

 _2:35 PM_  

**Shitty BK**

this is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had.

_15:57 PM_

**Shitty BK**

of course i’m in

_15:58 PM_

Summertime in Boston is gorgeous, and Bitty’s grateful that Marisol gave him the day off so he can go to a Red Sox game with Shitty and Lardo. Over the last couple of years, he’s really fallen for baseball as a way to occupy his summers, and Marisol consenting to give him the day off is unheard of. Usually she chirps him about her customers not wanting  _her_  tarts and she just can’t possibly spare him, but today is different. Today, Bitty can spend his time with his friends out in the sunshine and watch the Red Sox trump the Yankees.

Even better—Beyoncé will be singing the national anthem during the seventh inning stretch. It’s almost more than his little heart can take.

“Where’s Jack?” Lardo asks, when Bitty meets them at their entrance. Bitty rolls his eyes.

“Mr. ‘I can’t mess with my schedule’ Zimmermann is training today and can’t possibly spare a few hours for his best friends.”

Shitty snorts, shaking his head. “That hardworking piece of shit. Oh well. How about we go bother him after the game, huh? I miss that motherfucker.”

“That motherfucker misses you,” Bitty says, curling his arm around Shitty’s waist and his other arm around Lardo’s shoulders. Together they walk into the stadium and Bitty takes a deep, happy breath when he sees their seats—front row along the third base line, best view he could imagine.

It’s a real close game by the time the seventh inning stretch comes, 2-1 Yankees, but Bitty knows his Red Sox will pull it off. He’s just finished his third beer and is starting to holler for Beyoncé with everyone else when a shockingly familiar face appears on the Jumbotron…walking toward home plate with Beyoncé.

Jack Zimmermann is walking with Beyoncé to home plate. 

Bitty does not know why, but Jack Zimmermann is smiling at Beyoncé and Beyoncé is smiling at Jack Zimmermann. 

“Before we start,” the announcer says, “Providence Falconers’ Center Jack Zimmermann has an announcement.”

Three quarters of the crowd cheers—Jack’s a big supporter of the Red Sox (thanks to Eric R. Bittle) and has been very open about his relationship with Bitty, having done multiple pride-focused events in Boston and other cities near Providence—and the other quarter boos because of the Bruins. Bitty doesn’t hear  _any of it_ , because Jack is moving toward where he and Shitty and Lardo are sitting, and Shitty is grinning and Lardo is crying (and trying to hide it) and Bitty’s heart pounds and all he can think is that Beyoncé is so tiny and beautiful up close.

“Hey,” Jack says, into a microphone. Bitty’s throat is dry. He just nods. He doesn’t even know if that’s a response or not. “I got you this thing,” Jack continues and he hands Bitty a red velvet box.

The crowd laughs. Jack is not one for speeches. It’s a known fact.

“Open it, honey,” Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter tells him. She’s smiling so big when she looks up at Jack, and Jack is smiling too but he’s also a little green and a little pale and it looks like he’s probably gonna throw up.

Bitty opens it. There is a ring. It’s a simple ring—a silver band, burnished, with one small diamond inlaid, and he looks up at Jack. The stadium is going wild. The people behind him start slamming him on the back and saying, “Tell him yes! Tell him yes!”

Bitty looks at Beyoncé. She loops her arm in Jack’s and bounces on her feet, waiting. 

“You ain’t asked me anything yet,” Bitty says, and Jack puts a hand to his face, laughing and flushed.

“Bits, will you marry—”

“Oh my God,  _yes_.”

He doesn’t hear anything else beyond that, and when he finally looks around Jack Zimmermann’s big arms—his vision cloudy from tears—he sees that Shitty and Beyoncé are chatting in a friendly way and Lardo says, “He’s been in contact with her for months,” as if that explains everything, and Jack cups Bitty’s face gently and smiles at him. 

“I love you,” he says, and the stadium is still cheering like the Red Sox have already won.

“I love you too,” Bitty says, and he lets Jack slip the ring on his finger.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 22 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light BDSM/discussion of praise kink & safe words, brief intimation that Jack enjoys erotic asphyxiation.

_34\. “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”_

 

The room is packed with people. Jack had been told that the RSVP list was full, but he didn’t exactly understand what a roomful of five hundred sponsors would look like.

At his side, looking well-groomed and incandescently gorgeous, Bitty looks up at him with a smile, a champagne flute held in his delicate fingers. “You did a nice job with this, Jack. Really good turnout for your first benefit.”

Jack shifts uncomfortably in his tailored tux. Bitty’s tux is fashionable and fits him perfectly—curving across all of his slim lines and giving him the look of someone who is used to elegance. His bowtie is a shade of green that makes his dark eyes and his coiffed blonde hair pop. Personally, Jack feels like an idiot in his white tux. Several people have told them that they look good as a matched set, but he thinks they probably mean more Bitty and less him. He kind of feels like a bear at a circus.

“Honey, take a breath,” Bitty tells him, squeezing his arm gently. “You don’t have to do anything else but relax and enjoy yourself and let people come talk to you. That’s it. The rest is taken care of.” 

“There’s a lot of people here,” Jack says, and Bitty reaches up to touch the back of his neck with his cool palm.

“I know, baby. But it’s just a few hours of your life, and I promise it’s worth it. I’m going to go mingle a little and see if we can get those auction items going, and then I’ll swing back to collect you, okay?”

Jack doesn’t want him to leave, but he knows Bitty’s got a better handle on the finer points of the benefit than he does, so he watches him slip through the crowd and steels himself inwardly when three lovely young women approach him.

He enjoys their company, shock of all shocks, because they keep him occupied without asking too much of him, they put him at ease with the same soft southern skills that Bitty’s got, and frankly, he likes being surrounded by them because they’re soft-spoken and funny and they keep him distracted from what’s going on around him. 

It’s only when the crowd parts and he notices Bitty coming toward him that Jack’s attention wanders. Bitty looks unbelievable; in the hour since he last saw him, Jack sort of forgot how Bitty looked in his tux, and now his heart hammers in his chest at the long, clean lines of him. In the four years since Jack first kissed him, Bitty has grown up so much. It’s in the bones of his face, which are sharper now, and in the way he moves. He’s always been graceful, but this is a different level—he looks like he’s gliding, and when he gets closer, Jack realizes he’s staring at him.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Bitty says, turning his ineffable charm onto the beautiful women surrounding Jack. “Would you mind giving me my husband back for just a moment?”

They grin and laugh. Jack has gotten used to the ring on his finger but he feels it distinctly now, and with the realization that there is a ring on his finger, with Bitty saying that thrilling H-word, he lets Bitty whisk him away to the other end of the room near the banquet. They have a few moments of privacy together, and Bitty looks up at him with his lovely dark eyes.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” Bitty says, and his fingertips brush Jack’s chest, “we won’t make it to a bed. Hell, we won’t make it out of this room.”

“How am I looking at you?” Jack asks, because he’s rarely aware of his own facial expressions, something that used to get him the nickname Ice Man.

Bitty’s fingers are questing little things, and Jack feels a jerk just behind his navel, a temptation to take more. But they’re in public. They can’t. He wonders, briefly, if he’ll ever stop feeling this way when he sees Bitty—that visceral, intense need to touch. “With fuck-me eyes,” Bitty tells him seriously, and Jack exhales shakily.

“Stop it. We’re—we have a long night ahead of us.”

“Some longer than most,” Bitty says, and he turns his thousand-watt smile onto someone coming up behind Jack and pats Jack on the cheek. “See you later, big boy.”

Jack watches him as he disappears through the crowd, hungry for more.

*

They do make it to a bed. Bitty’s had years of practice at this, and it still doesn’t get old. They’ve had some hilarious moments in bed, to be sure—Jack literally falling asleep in the middle of getting a blowjob comes to mind—but always they do what they do with love. Even when it’s like this, Jack on his knees with his thighs spread wide and Bitty crouching behind him, biting little marks all over his back, working Jack to the point of orgasm with his fingers and his tongue before backing away again.

Jack can’t  _stand_ the teasing, but he doesn’t use the safe word. He doesn’t want to. But he does sob brokenly for mercy.

Bitty’s gone again, having moved away from Jack and off the bed. Jack struggles to keep still like he’s been told, and his hands flex around the binds at his wrist. They feel so good. With his cheek to the mattress, he watches as Bitty stands close but not close enough, those dark eyes of his watching him with tender lust.

“You look pretty all tied up,” he says, and Jack closes his eyes with a shudder, his breath whooshing out of him.

“You should do something about it,” Jack says, and Bitty chuckles, digging around in his side table drawer and pulling out what he jokingly calls  _the good lube_ because it’s slick and lasts forever but damn if they haven’t ruined sheets with it. 

Jack doesn’t care  _at all_. There’s a reason why one can buy sheets whenever one wants, and he groans when Bitty mounts him, when, seconds later, Bitty is sliding hard and thick into him, and it’s an easy thrust because Jack is so worked open by this point, and Bitty gets into his favorite rhythm of long, slow, deep, and Jack wants to touch him but can’t—he’s still tied up—so he keens high in his throat and lets himself be fucked into oblivion.

Bitty’s good at talking, so when Jack stops his own wailing, Bitty’s telling him things like  _you’re such a good boy, Jack_ and  _you looked so good in your suit I could’ve fucked you right in front of everyone_ and  _I want you to come for me, do you understand?_  

When they first realized that Jack was into what Bitty googled as  _praise kink_ , Jack was so embarrassed about it he refused to have anything to do with it for several months, even though Bitty would try to coax him into enjoying himself a little. Now, though, Jack is unashamed, and Bitty is gloriously good at what he does with his wicked mouth, because his words are like punches straight to Jack’s gut, and he never lasts long when Bitty decimates him like this, one hand curled around his bound wrists and fucking him into the mattress.

His orgasm is fierce when it assaults him, untouched, and Bitty fucks him right on through it despite Jack’s hoarse shouts, because Jack still hasn’t used the safe word—he’s only used it once before, and the swiftness with which Bitty pulled his hand away from Jack’s throat made Jack love him with dizzying fierceness—and Jack, impossibly, comes again.

Bitty makes this noise of sheer pleasure; his goal is always to get Jack to come twice, because it’s hard for Jack to come once most of the time because of his medication, but twice is a miracle. Twice is unbelievable. Twice nearly  _hurts_.

Jack feels it when Bitty comes, slicking him up inside and crying out in his lovely low voice, squeezing Jack’s wrists and pushing into him one last time. Jack hears a deep buzzing in his head and barely notices when Bitty unties him. He flops boneless to the bed, collapsing onto his side. Bitty strokes his hair until Jack comes around.

“That was fun,” Bitty says, snuggling into him. He looks flushed and perfect and pleased as punch. “Did you like that, baby?”

Jack grunts a response and presses closer. Bitty’s aftercare is always sweet and tender, and it’s good at grounding Jack back into the present and keeping his overheated body from combusting. When he can speak again, he says, “I love you.”

Bitty smiles at that, kissing Jack all along his sweaty hairline. “I love you too. Lord, you looked good in your tux.”

“I should wear it again for you sometime.”

Bitty makes a noise. “Yes, please do. And then you can fuck me while you’re all done up.”

Jack’s cock twitches feebly. “Stop. I just can’t right now.”

Bitty’s laughter is the last thing he hears as he drifts off into a deep, sated sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 24 April 2015.

_46\. “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”_

They’re not nearly as careful as they need to be, that’s for damn certain. But as Bitty starts his senior year, it feels really stupid hiding things from the Haus. With Dex and Nursey in the attic, and Tango in Lardo’s room, Bitty’s guilt eats at him. These are his  _boys_ , his teammates, his friends—and he has been so happy for so long, and they’re not sure what it is but they’re happy for him regardless, and they certainly wouldn’t judge. Heck, Chowder would probably beg to be the ordained minister at the wedding (if there ever is a wedding…Bitty  _hopes_ there’s a wedding…) 

Bitty doesn’t think Jack feels guilty, per se, but he feels  _something_ , because it’s  the first week of school and Jack is visiting the Haus the entire week when he really should be in Providence preparing for the season, but instead he’s getting underfoot with everyone and they all love it, especially Chowder and Tango, who follow Jack around like the puppies they are and ask him all sorts of questions (well,  _Tango_  asks all sorts of questions).

And if they’re curious why Jack is sleeping in Bitty’s room with no air mattress on the floor, no one says anything.

And if they’re wondering why Jack and Bitty looked disheveled and caught each time someone rolls into the kitchen in the morning, no one says anything.

So Bitty is not being particularly careful, and neither is Jack, which is strange, because Jack is  _the_ most paranoid while also being the most obvious (“Jack, you need to stop calling me from cabs with your teammates, they’re going to hear my voice and I’m sorry, I may be an alto but I do not sound like a lady friend”), so when they’re in the kitchen one morning and Bitty is kneading dough and Jack is standing behind him and slowly sliding his hands up and down Bitty’s sensitive stomach, they both simply look up at the sound of footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Hey, have you seen the—? Oh.”

Chowder stops dead in the doorway. His eyes are huge. His teeth, so recently braces-free that he continually complains about  _phantom brackets_ , are startlingly white and straight, and Bitty’s a little jealous of how perfect he looks. Jack doesn’t move from where he’s casually feeling Bitty up, and Bitty’s hands continue to knead the dough while he looks with what he hopes is  _not_ panic at Chowder. “Yeah, hon?” 

“Um.”

“You were asking if we’d seen the…what?”

Jack rests his chin on Bitty’s shoulder, his hands shifting to Bitty’s hips, where they are blessedly still. Jack’s stupid hands are often very distracting.

“Um,” Chowder says again, and it’s like his brain has to reset itself. “Um.”

“Sweetheart, use your words,” Bitty says, looking down at the dough again and hoping he’s not blushing. He can literally feel Jack behind him trying not to laugh. 

“Are you two dating?” Chowder says, and the words come out of him in a rush, like he expects the answer to be no and he’s pretty sure that would be a lie but isn’t 100% certain that what he’s witnessing is two people who are dating because those two people are Bitty and Jack Zimmermann. Standing in the kitchen. Snuggling. And baking together.

“Yes,” Bitty says, because why not.

Jack only says, “What are you looking for, Chowder?”

“Um,” Chowder says, “I don’t remember.”

“When you remember, come back and ask,” Bitty says, bumping against Jack. “Honey, would you fetch me some brown sugar?”

“I can do that,” Jack says, and Bitty turns again to see Chowder still at the doorway, gaping.

“Be good and don’t spread this around,” Bitty says, and Chowder nods like a bobblehead.

“I wouldn’t,” he says, and Bitty believes him. Chowder looks like he’s going to burst. Then he asks, “Am I gonna be at the wedding?”

“Sure,” Jack says, handing Bitty the brown sugar.

“ _’Swawesome_ ,” Chowder says, and he looks like he won the damn lottery.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 24 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this ficlet: NSFW, medication reactions, breathplay, continuous consent, subspace, safewords, aftercare, D/s.

_24\. “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”_

There’s something marvelous about Jack’s body that goes far beyond the superficial. Of course Jack is attractive—he’s six-one, cut from marble, and his intense workouts and protein-laden diet lend beautifully to his hard-earned physique. All of these things are obvious, especially when photos of him shirtless in the locker room circulate thanks to Getty Images. Bitty’s not surprised by any of this; he’s shared communal space with Jack for a long time before he was ever even attracted to him, and his body is simply something admirable.

But what’s most marvelous about Jack’s body is the way that it responds to Bitty’s touch like a well-tuned instrument playing lovingly for its master’s fingers. Jack is very, very trusting with Bitty—has trusted him with his words and his doubts and fears, with his hopes and his dreams. Has trusted Bitty not to judge him when Jack so desperately needs to not be judged. Bitty had thought, at first, that he was going to have to pass certain tests in order to have access to Jack’s deeper layers, peeling him back little by little so as not to make him bleed. But Jack is particularly giving of himself, and gave everything so freely and so effortlessly that Bitty felt like he had to cup his hands to catch all of Jack spilling outward. It was… _easy_. He’s never had to pull anything from Jack. Jack wants to give and so he does.

Even here, Jack gives. As he asks, he gives—in words and sounds and the minute shift of his hips, the way his ass clenches and eases as his nerves get the better of him.

“You’re the only one I trust to do this,” Jack says, and the picture he presents is unbelievable, naked and softly blushed in the light of the candles Bitty has lit around their Providence bedroom, Jack on his stomach with his head turned, looking at Bitty over his shoulder, and Bitty gets a punch of love in his heart, a reminder that yes, he is in love with this boy and this boy is so in love with him.

One of their talks over the summer centered around sex. Okay, several of their conversations centered around sex, namely about experience. Bitty admitted, without hesitation, that he’s kissed four boys in his life, one girl (not a fan), and once he got a handjob in a hotel bathroom during a figure skating competition when he was fifteen. Looking back, he realizes how not exciting it was, but in that moment, fifteen-year-old new-gay Eric Bittle was enthralled by the feel of another boy’s hand on himself.

Jack’s experience is a much shorter list than Bitty was expecting: Making out with the women’s volleyball captain (“It was pretty nice,” Jack said) and Kent Parson. Jack did lots of things with Kent Parson, and only enjoyed some of them. But the things he’s realized that he’s always wanted to do he’s never actually done, because he never found someone he could let go of so much control with.

Until Bitty. Until now. Until this moment, with Jack displayed all gorgeous and fearless on their bed.

Bitty touches him with confident hands, gently spreading his thighs so he can crouch between them. Jack struggles with letting go of his control, and Bitty takes it slow. “Are you okay, Jack?” 

“Yes.” 

“Just remember to talk to me. Okay?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m trying.” He lets out a breath. “What—what are you—what are we doing first?” 

“What do you want?”

Jack’s spine flexes. “Everything.”

Bitty chuckles and nuzzles at the back of Jack’s knee, placing a soft kiss there. “Honey, we gotta start somewhere. Do you have any ideas? Because I do.” 

“What do you have?” 

Bitty tells him. He’s nervous himself, and the words coming out of his mouth are…new. They’re deliberate, said to make Jack loosen up and get excited, because Jack rarely asks for things, and his sex drive seems to be fairly low. Part of it’s his medications, and part of it is Jack himself—so focused on things outside of his own body that his body gets neglected when it’s about only pleasure and not an end result (so to speak). Jack also has a hard time with the difference between “want” and “need,” and that’s what they’re working on in Providence together, with Jack all trembling skin on the bed and Bitty experiencing everything for the first time too.

They start with oil, just enough to dampen Jack’s skin, and Bitty presses and kneads into the muscles of Jack’s back, getting him pliant little by little.

Then Bitty uses his still-slick fingers to trail down Jack’s spine, over the crest of his ass, between his cheeks. Jack tenses and relaxes and tenses again. Bitty murmurs softly at him and kisses his shoulder. Strokes Jack where he’s tightest, stopping when Jack lets out a shaky breath to clarify consent. When Jack doesn’t respond, Bitty pulls his hand away entirely.

“Jack? You need to talk to me. I asked if this was okay.”

“You can keep going,” Jack says, and Bitty doesn’t question him a second time, the pads of his fingers gentle over that tight curl of muscle, not seeking entrance but simply touching. And then he shifts and applies his tongue instead of his fingers, and Jack goes even tighter before he lets out a long, low groan deep in his chest. Bitty spreads him open so he has easier access and goes as slow as he can make himself so Jack has plenty of time to tell him to stop. But Jack doesn’t. He shakes all over and his breathing turns shallow and quiet, but he doesn’t say to stop, so Bitty doesn’t. Bitty’s heart is a riotous, raucous thing in his chest. He’d Googled some things for Jack when Jack first starting talking to him, tentatively, about what he wanted to try in bed. Bitty learned about continuous consent, safe words (theirs is  _apple pie_ , bless Jack’s little heart), breath control, dominance and submission, and aftercare. He learned what subspace is, and he and Jack spent time in their Skype sessions discussing in detail what each of them wanted, what they were willing to do, and where their boundaries were.

The fact that Jack wants to be submissive in bed is something that makes perfect sense to Bitty when he thinks about what being submissive really is. Jack wants someone else to take all of his hard-fought control from him, but to give it back when he’s done. Bitty can do that. Bitty would love to do that.

It takes a while, but Jack finally starts to relax and enjoy what Bitty does to him. His hips push back a little and his tight-fisted grip on the comforter eases up a bit. When Bitty pulls back to stroke him with a fingertip, to gently push past that tight ring of muscle, Jack is looking back at him all hazy-eyed. 

There’s so much Bitty wants to do to him, and with him, but he has a feeling they won’t get to do it all in one night. It’s hard enough to make Jack come as it is, but usually once he does there’s no time left for a second round. His body shuts down on him even if Bitty can tell, by the look in his eyes, that he’d like more. 

“How does it feel?” Bitty asks, and he smiles a little as he visibly watches Jack struggle to find words. 

“It’s a little strange,” he says. “It’s not bad, but—it feels strange.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Not yet.”

Bitty nods, his free hand sliding over Jack’s magical ass to grip at his hip, giving him more touch to ground him. Jack keeps watching him and Bitty keeps exploring his body, wondering how in the world he’s going to—to fit his cock in there, if they can even get that far tonight. He blushes uncontrollably as he thinks about it. Neither of them have tried that yet with one another, and Bitty’s still uncertain about it.

“Want me to use my tongue again?” He deliberately says the W word and watches as Jack has to think that over.

“I want you to use your tongue again,” he says, and Bitty obliges without question. Focusing so much on Jack lets Bitty forget about his own building desire. The thought of his own release is tertiary to caring for Jack and getting Jack off, so when Jack starts to really keen in his throat and to rut against the bed, Bitty pulls back.

“Jack,” he says, waiting for Jack’s attention to shift.

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to try something different.”

“Mmm?”

Bitty smiles and presses a kiss to his tree-trunk thigh. “Will you roll over for me?”

There’s a long quiet, and the confusion Jack feels is evident in the way he blinks at Bitty. They were going to try penetration tonight, which is why Bitty had been loosening him up for the last half hour. But Bitty wants to do something else. Something they’ve talked about, and something he thinks Jack will like. 

Without a question, Jack rolls over onto his back, and his dick, glorious and hard, curves thickly against the cut of his hip. Bitty takes a breath.

“How would you feel,” he says carefully, “if I put my hand around your throat while I jerked you off?”

Jack’s chest is rising and falling much faster than it had been before. He watches Bitty with something like disbelief and hope. He doesn’t speak for several long moments. “I would consent to that,” he says finally, his voice very low. 

“And we are clear on the safe word, yes?” 

“Apple pie.”

“And if you can’t say the safe word, what do you want to do for a signal?”

Jack’s flushed from his forehead to his dick. Bitty tries to keep his shaky breathing under control. “I’ll tap your thigh three times.”

Bitty shifts closer and Jack’s legs splay open immediately, giving him more room. “Make sure you can reach me.”

Jack’s hand touches Bitty’s thigh. He’s quivering. His dick looks so hard it’s got to hurt. Bitty takes a breath, leans forward, and nuzzles Jack’s lips with his own. Kissing Jack is like coming home, and it has been since their first kiss, when Jack surprised him in the Haus, and has continually surprised him since then. The depth of his love feels infinite. 

“If you use the safe word or the signal,” Bitty says, mouth ghosting breath across Jack’s neck, “then I am going to stop everything immediately and pull back. Is that okay with you?”

“You don’t…you don’t have to just stop, maybe you can just—ease up?”

“I’d feel better if I completely stopped, if that’s all right.”

“Sure, sure. Yes. I’m okay with this. Are you?”

Bitty nods and nips his earlobe, just to make him squirm. “I am.”

He teases Jack a little more first just to take the nervous edge off, his hand still oil-slick and circling around Jack’s cock as Bitty kisses along his neck. When Jack tips his head back and shamelessly exposes his throat, Bitty lets himself revel in the sheer force of Jack’s trust for a moment before he slides his hand around Jack’s throat, getting a good grip, and squeezing slowly. He doesn’t want to hurt Jack, but Jack is aware of how to stop that, and Bitty also has to trust him too, to trust Jack to tell him when to stop.

He’s slow at first, with his hand on Jack’s dick. Stroking him from base to tip, his foreskin pulling away from the sensitive head. Jack’s face flushes from the force of Bitty’s hand but he looks so blissed out in a way he’s never looked before that all Bitty can do is watch him be beautiful and focus on giving him exactly what he’s asked for. He speeds up his hand on Jack’s cock, his fingers tightening little by little around his throat, and even though Jack’s breathing is heavily restricted by this point, even though his chest is heaving shallowly and his thighs are twitching uncontrollably, he doesn’t signal Bitty to stop, and so Bitty continues, jerking him harder, his thumb pressing on the underside of the head, and he can feel Jack’s orgasm building much more quickly than usual, and Bitty makes a sound of pleasure when Jack comes, silent because he doesn’t have enough air to speak, but he’s not giving the signal and Bitty can only watch and love him so intensely it hurts.

Jack never comes easily, but this is like an assault. By the time he’s done, there are thin ribbons of come draping over Bitty’s hand, painting Jack’s spasming stomach. Bitty feels three taps on his thighs and instantly releases Jack’s throat. Jack sucks in a deep breath and he turns dazed eyes to Bitty, and Bitty thinks  _subspace_  and slides as close to Jack as he can, coaxing him closer.

“What do you need, my baby?” 

“Just—just hold me,” Jack says, voice strained, and Bitty does as he’s bid, holding Jack’s shaking shoulders and rocking him gently, kissing him with tenderness along his sweaty hairline, the perfect curve of his ear. When Jack is cognizant again, he watches Bitty with what can only be described as reverence.

“That was amazing,” Jack says, and Bitty can tell he means it. “You were amazing.” 

“So were you. Thank you for being honest and clear with me.”

Jack rolls over on top of him, and Bitty is briefly surprised by his energy. Jack usually gets tired after he comes—almost like his body can’t handle the expenditure and immediately needs to repair itself. “I want to make you feel good,” Jack says into his ear, and his words are very persuasive and make Bitty’s breath catch in his throat. “What do you want?” 

Bitty swallows. He’s also not used to asking for things either, but damn if he’s good at giving them. This extends far beyond sex, of course, but he’s working on it. He wants to work on it with Jack. “I’d like your mouth,” he says, and he feels almost shy despite what they just did together. “If you want.” 

“I want,” Jack says, and Bitty closes his eyes, shudders, and lets himself be worshipped by his favorite god.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 25 April 2016.

_45\. “Tell me a secret.”_

Jack cradles his phone to his ear as he settles in for bed for the night. He’s late for their call and now they only get ten minutes to talk, which makes his chest feel tight, but he tells himself they’ve got to be a little flexible. Games will go over (for both of them). Bitty may have too much studying to do. Just because they’ve heard each other’s voices every night since May doesn’t mean they always will be.

Bitty answers after three rings. “Hey there, baby,” he says sleepily, and Jack’s heart eases in his chest.

“Hi. What if I was someone else calling from my phone with an emergency?”

“Then I woulda pretended I misread the caller ID,” Bitty says immediately, and Jack chuckles. God, but he loves it when Bitty is so sleepy like this. He sounds warm and liquid and pliant, and Jack wants nothing more than to be wrapped all around him. 

“How was your day?” Jack asks, because he always wants to know.

Bitty’s chuckle is so sweet. “Oh, same ol’, same ol’. Baked pies. Went to class. Tango asked me if we’re dating.”

“Wait, what?” Jack’s heart stops. Shit. He knew from the beginning that it was going to be hard for him to keep things quiet, just with the way he is, but he hadn’t thought—

“Honey, breathe. Tango asks questions all the time. I just laughed and he moved on to another topic.” Bitty’s phone makes a shuffling noise and Jack knows he’s burrowing deeper into the covers. “Tell me a secret.”

“A secret?”

“A secret, yeah. Tell me one of yours, and I’ll tell you one of mine.” 

Jack thinks for a long, long moment. “Do you remember when we were studying in the library and you were tweeting on your phone and we passed notes back and forth? I gave you the first one in Québécois.”

Bitty makes a noise. “Of course I remember. I’ve never seen you laugh so hard in the library.”

“I should’ve known then, but I just didn’t. I felt so… _light_ with you there. I had fun in the library. I had fun with  _you_.”

“Honey.” Bitty’s voice has always been so expressive, but even moreso now with his love bubbling over. “You sweet boy. I’m just glad you did something eventually, otherwise I would’ve pined away until I died.”

Jack still can’t imagine that ebullient, extroverted Bitty would have simply…not said anything. Ever. It seems so unlike him, especially now, with Bitty being turning out to be a great, considerate, and loving boyfriend. “Is that your secret, then? You would’ve pined away and never told me a thing?”

“No way. My secret is…” He’s quiet for a moment before he sighs. “I should’ve known better, honestly, but do you remember when we baked together for our class?”

“Yeah, I completely screwed up your pie.”

“No, no. It was, like, one of the first times we’d ever been…alone together, without hockey or anything, and that was literally the moment I realized that I was in love with you.” It still makes Jack shiver to hear Bitty say the L-word. “It was so stupid of me, cooking with a straight boy. I was head over heels at that point.” 

Jack sighs when his Fitbit gives him his silent alarm. “Well, now you know. And now I’m head over heels too.” 

“And now it’s bedtime,” Bitty says, and he pauses. “I love you, Jack.”

“I love you too, Bits. Talk tomorrow?”

“Always. Sleep well. Dream of good things.”

Jack hangs up and he dreams of Bitty.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 25 April 2016.

_44\. “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”_

 

**Jack**

I’m guessing you didn’t watch the game

_10:18 PM_

**Bittle**

No, I had to effin study and I couldn’t let myself be distracted!!! Did y’all win? Let me Google :D

_10:19 PM_

**Jack**

Wait hold on don’t google

_10:19 PM_

**Bittle**

Oh my god JACK

_10:21 PM_

**Jack**

I said not to google

_10:22 PM_

**Bittle**

:( :( :( :( :( JACK

_10:22 PM_

**Bittle**

What happened?!

_10:22 PM_

**Jack**

Calm down it’s not as bad as it looks

_10:23 PM_

**Bittle**

WHAT HAPPENED

_10:24 PM_

**Bittle**

I CAN’T BELIEVE NOBODY TEXTED ME. THOSE TRAITORS.

_10:24 PM_

**Bittle**

Can you call me? ARE YOU DEAD?

 _10:24 PM_  

**Jack**

Can’t call just yet, waiting for the x ray to come back

_10:24 PM_

**Bittle**

Jack.

_10:29 PM_

**Jack**

I’m fine I promise. They think it’s just a sprain.

_10:29 PM_

**Bittle**

:/

_10:31 PM_

**Jack**

Don’t make that face, I’m really okay.

_10:31 PM_

**Bittle**

If you die, I’m gonna kill you.

_10:32 PM_

**Jack**

Haha. I can’t die from a finger sprain. I probably won’t even have to stop playing.

_10:32 PM_

**Bittle**

:(

 _10:32 PM_  

 

“Jack! Oh my God, where are you? Are you safe? What happened?”

“Bits, calm down, I’m totally fine. Really. Freak accident.”

“What are they doing for you? Do you need an amputation?”

“Bits.” 

“Okay, so I’m partway serious, but I’m also trying to make you laugh.” 

“It’s working.”

“So what are they doing for you?”

“Just ice and they’ve got my fingers taped. The x-ray was pretty clear. I’m really totally fine. Since we’ve got a couple of days off, I bet I won’t even miss the next game.”

“You know, my biggest fear is that you’re going to get seriously hurt and some tape won’t help it.” 

“Like when you had your concussion?”

“Ugh, that was horrifying, don’t remind me.”

“It scared the shit out of me too.”

“Did it really?”

“Well, yeah. You don’t remember? That was my first fight I ever started.”

“Aw, honey. My big goon.”

“I’m really okay, Bits, I promise.”

“Okay,  _fine_ , I believe you. Where are you now?”

“Just taking a cab back to the hotel. Can I call you before bed?” 

“Of course, baby. Like always. I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

“Can we Skype? I—I miss your face.”

“Sweetheart, of course we can Skype. You want me shirtless?”

“Ah, please don’t. I’m sort of…in public.”

“I’ll be shirtless, then.”

“Maybe I will too.”

“Good Lord, Zimmermann. Get your ass on Skype. I’m waiting.”

“Love you.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 25 April 2016.

_13\. “Kiss me.”_

 

 

When Jack’s plane lands in Atlanta on July 4th, he’s thinking of numbers in his head to keep his disorderly heart from thundering right out of his chest. 

There’s 684, the number of days he’s known that Eric Bittle has existed. 

37, the number of coffees Jack has bought him.

21, the number of froyos Jack has bought him.

4, the number of pies Bitty baked specifically for him and no one else (the cookies are too numerous to count).

6, the number of assists Bitty has given Jack.

2, the number of assists Jack has given Bitty. 

41, the number of Skype conversations they’ve had at night since Jack graduated.

42, the number of days they’ve texted together since Jack graduated. 

3, the number of kisses they’ve shared,

and 0, the number of times they’ve been able to fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

Jack thinks of how honest he’s been with Bitty, and how  _easy_ it was to be honest with him. How Bitty is funny and exuberant but also quietly tender. How he’s a great listener. And gets so excited when Jack shows any interest in his day whatsoever. How he uses those pet names like breathing, calling Jack  _honey_  and  _baby_ and  _sweetheart_. When he says them to Jack, they feel so different than they used to. They feel big. And Jack has tried a few himself, the words awkward in his mouth, but the first time he says  _hey baby_ on a Skype chat, the look on Bitty’s face, the flush in his cheeks, was too good to pass up.

So now Jack does it all the time, and Bitty still blushes. 

He texts Bitty to let him know that he’s landed, and the response he gets is instant:  _I’m at baggage claim :)_  

Jack expected a few more smileys than that, but Bitty’s probably just as nervous as he is right about now. There’s something wrecking his stomach about seeing Bitty again in person after all this. The last time Jack saw him, he’d grabbed Bitty and kissed him. He can’t do that in the Atlanta airport. Or at least, he probably shouldn’t.

At the baggage carousel, Bitty looks smaller than Jack remembers, which is ridiculous because it hasn’t been that long since he’s seen him, but Bitty has grown so big and important in Jack’s head and his heart that it’s hard to believe this little slip of a slender boy dominates him so.

Bitty’s in a sleeveless blue shirt and striped shorts, sandals on his feet. He looks even more golden than he did in May, and Jack knows from their conversations that Bitty’s been doing a lot of outside chores to earn spending money, and that he should probably use more sunscreen. Jack admires him for a long moment until Bitty glances to his left, his fingers flying across the screen of his phone, and when he sees Jack his face breaks into an absolutely spectacular smile. He doesn’t move forward, though. They both seem to be very aware about their proximity to other human beings.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bitty says, when Jack stands next to him and watches the carousel go by, waiting for his duffel bag.

“I could say the same for you,” Jack says, hands shoved deep into his pockets so he doesn’t accidentally touch. He wants to touch. He wants  _badly_ to touch. “Nice legs.”

“Don’t you chirp me, Mr. Zimmermann. Just because your thighs look like tree trunks in those shorts does not give you any right to chirps.”

They tease each other back and forth until Jack’s duffel arrives, and he slings it over his back and follows Bitty out to the parking garage. Bitty’s shoulders look broader than Jack remembers them looking (Skype skews everything, he thinks), and Jack wants to alight his mouth on the freckles that have appeared like stars on the back of Bitty’s neck.

In the Honda CR-V which just about screams  _Suzanne Bittle_ all over it (there’s even a Providence Falconers bumper sticker), Bitty puts his key in the ignition, his forearm flexing as he turns the car on and the cold AC blasts them mercifully, and Jack feels something very visceral in the pit of his stomach at Bitty in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t know why; he’s never been a car guy or anything, and besides, Hondas aren’t exactly sexy. But Bitty looks sexy. Jack has never used that word to describe anyone other than Shitty before, and even then, only in a joking manner.

Bitty looks sexy. Jack’s throat goes dry.

“Um,” Bitty says, looking around them. The windows are tinted, there aren’t any cameras that Jack can see, and they are alone.

“Kiss me,” Jack says, and he’s leaning across the space between them, settling a palm on Bitty’s sweaty knee, and Bitty goes to him easily, his mouth hot and damp with peppermint Chapstick. The last time they did this, it was too rushed, too hurried. This time, they are still rushed, in a way. Jack wants to be totally alone with Bitty, and a parking garage at the airport is just not it, but he squeezes Bitty’s knee and opens his mouth, and Bitty’s tongue is a miracle. When they pull away, Bitty is flushed deeply pink and Jack is in love with the precise shade of his eyes.

“My parents are going to Augusta tomorrow for a festival,” Bitty says. “We’ll be alone all day.”

Jack closes his eyes and leans against the seat with a sigh. It’s the best news he’s heard in weeks.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 26 April 2016.

_4\. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”_ and _8\. “Wanna bet?”_

 

Two weeks until senior graduation, and Bitty is terrorizing the Haus. Jack gets multiple texts from Hausmates and Samwell Men’s Hockey Team alike.

**Dex**

jack man u have to do something about bitty :(

_7:19 AM_

**Nursey**

He’s losing it. He burned a pie.

_2:22 PM_

**Chowder**

I am afraid for my life

 _4:06 PM_  

**Tango (?? Guy)**

What do we do, Mr. Zimmermann? He just made me scrub the toilet? Is that normal?

_4:49 PM_

 

Jack packs up an overnight bag and makes the drive to Samwell ten minutes faster than usual. He’s only got the night and the morning to get this resolved, and Bitty’s worrisome personality (his anxiety, really) has gotten the best of him. Everything has to be perfect for graduation, and he’s stressed about school, and he’s stressed about the engagement party, and basically Bitty has become, as Shitty helpfully put it on the phone before Jack left Providence, “Like one of those  _Bridezilla_ type things, except it’s more like a  _Graduationzilla Meets Bridezilla_ and takes over the world.”

In this moment, Jack feels sort of like a superhero riding in to save the town.

At the Haus, as soon as he pushes open the door, he can literally smell how stressed out Bitty is, because Jack has never smelled burnt pie before, and it’s not awful, but coming from a Bittle oven it is the most shocking thing he could imagine. The Haus is empty—probably trying to escape the carnage.

Jack’s phone buzzes with a text, and it’s from Poochie, the new team manager:  _I see your fancy truck. You can’t help, Zims. Get out while you still can._

Jack only texts back  _Wanna bet?_ and heads into the kitchen.

Bitty, his very attractive and hyperactive boyfriend, is sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor without pants on, with socks on, and is crying over his burnt pie. Jack’s heart swells and he kneels beside Bitty, putting a hand to his back.

“It’s just falling apart,” Bitty says, and Jack doesn’t know if he means the pie or his life. Jack takes the pie from him and Bitty lets him, meek as you please, but Jack knows what Bitty is capable of when stressed. His terrified Hausmates were probably not exaggerating.

When the pie is safely on the kitchen counter, Jack pulls Bitty into his lap, curling him close. “What you’re experiencing,” he says softly, “is an anxiety attack. Will you let me talk you through it?”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, and he rubs his face into Jack’s shoulder in such a way that Jack falls in love with him just a little deeper.

“So first of all, we need to put things into perspective,” Jack says, and he spends the next twenty minutes detailing everything that Bitty needs to do, things he wants to do, and things that can wait. By the time he’s done, Bitty’s looking at him with his shining brown eyes, and Jack remembers, distinctly, the first time he thought those eyes were beautiful. It was long, long before he realized the rest.

“I’m just so tense,” Bitty says, and he’s still small enough that he can curl up on Jack’s lap, but his shoulders have visibly broadened over the last year. Jack rubs his back gently. “It’s like I can’t stop thinking about things.” 

“I know.” He pauses, flushing deeply. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?” 

Bitty looks up at him, and his smile is sweet. “I’m so glad I asked you to marry me.”

Jack laughs and picks him up, carrying him upstairs to his bedroom. “I’m so glad I said yes.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 26 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feat: Kent Parson.

_39\. “Hey! I was gonna eat that!”_

 

 

What Bitty thought was going to be a romantic weekend in Providence has turned into an unexpected Kent Parson visit, and he’s not exactly  _happy_ about it.

Parse has gotten a little better (read: human) in the last two years since Jack’s been in the NHL, and Bitty wonders partly if he was just lonely and missed his buddy, but another part of him, a bigger part of him, doesn’t give two shits about Kent Parson.

But he pretends like he does.

“Can I get you some milk to go with that pie, hon?” he asks, and if he’s saying the words through clenched teeth, well, no one has to know it’s because of Kent Parson. It could be because of…okay, they know it’s because of Kent Parson.

Parse, shoveling apple pie into his mouth like it’s going to get him the Stanley Cup, nods. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks. Crust is a little dry.”

Jack hides his face. He’s standing at the counter next to Bitty as though offering solidarity or something, and Bitty thinks that Jack Zimmermann is laughing and trying to hide it, so he whacks Jack right in the nipple with a wooden spoon before jerking the refrigerator door open to get the milk.

“This filling is killer,” Parse says, and Bitty tells himself that he cannot melt at every little single compliment, especially when it comes from Satan. “I mean, seriously, dude, when are you opening up your own bakery again?” 

“Probably next year,” Bitty says, pouring the milk with a little more force than is necessary, then sliding the glass to Parse and hoping his reflexes are good enough to catch it before it falls right off the table. They are. Damn him. “I’m just taking the time right now to work and learn all the ins and outs of opening a business.” 

“Not much to learn,” Parse says, and Bitty wants to ask him where the hell  _he_ went to college if he knows so damn much. Jack is still hiding a smile, the asshole. “Jacky here will give you the cash you need, you open up a store, you bake stuff, and people buy it. Simple.”

Bitty closes his eyes and sends a prayer to Bey. He is not going to murder an NHL All-Star in this kitchen. He is not going to murder an NHL All-Star in this kitchen. “There’s a little more to it than that, sweetheart.” 

“Nah,” Parse says, and Bitty watches the back of his head and wonders if he can get away with a mild concussion. He probably can.  _I’m so sorry, Kent, my hand just slipped!_

“Bits has a great business proposal,” Jack says, and he reaches out to pull Bitty to him. The gesture is sweet until Bitty realizes that Jack is trapping his hands so he can’t swing his fists. The jerk. “We’re really excited to get it going.” 

“I’m glad the media’s all supportive of you two,” Parse says, leaning back in his chair and looking over at Bitty and Jack. There’s something strange on his face, and Bitty thinks it’s jealousy. Or maybe envy. He gets the two confused. “I thought they’d eat you alive, Jacky. I’m glad they didn’t.”

“I think it helps that Bitty’s so darn cute,” Jack grins, and Bitty, against his better judgment, softens a little. He even smiles.

“ _I_  think it helps that when we did the press conference, I gave everyone maple tarts.”

Parse pokes at his crust for a moment and makes a face. Jack’s hands tighten around Bitty’s hands. Bitty gives Jack a very serious look. 

Jack lets go and clears his throat, moving to handwash some dishes. Apparently he has decided that he is not going to take sides, but he’s also not going to stop the massacre.

“I’ll take that out of your way,” Bitty says sweetly, picking up Parse’s half-eaten pie. 

“Hey! I was gonna eat that!” He grabs the plate and gives Bitty a look. Bitty almost stabs his eye out. “Just—I wish I had someone to make me pie.”

Kent Parson is a piece of shit. Bitty stares down at him for a long moment. He’s never liked Parse. Parse has said some things to Jack, and done some things to Jack, and Bitty does not appreciate that Kent Parson is manipulative and charming (not nice, not sincere, but hella charming), and he’s sort of a man-boy in that he went into the NHL right after high school and never had the growing up that Jack had (though Jack’s growing up, admittedly, was not the best way a kid could grow up), and Parse has this air about him of arrogance that transforms like magic into self-consciousness. Kent Parson is a piece of shit, but Bitty can’t help but to feel sympathy for him.

He puts his hand on top of Parse’s head and Parse looks up at him in surprise. “I’ll make you pie, hon. Whenever you want.”

“Are you hitting on me, Bits?”

Now Bitty whacks him in the back of his head. It’s a little harder than he meant, but he feels  _zero guilt about it_. “Hush your mouth before I hush it for you.”

At the sink, Jack is laughing so hard and so quietly that he has tears streaming down his cheeks.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 26 April 2016.

_43\. “YOU DID WHAT?!”_

 

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Hey

_8:01 AM_

**Bits**

Hi!!! :) Good run?

 _8:07 AM_  

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Yeah you busy

 _8:07 AM_  

**Bits**

Pfft. DUH. I’ve been making dough since 4 but I always have time for you :-*

_8:08 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

I can always call later

_8:10 AM_

**Bits**

Honey if you’re asking before our scheduled time, it sounds big. What’s up?

_8:10 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

When’s your break

_8:11 AM_

**Bits**

Not until 10. You’re making me worried.

_8:14 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Nah, nothing to be worried about just wanted to talk to you about something

_8:15 AM_

**Bits**  
Um

_8:15 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Seriously it’s probably a good thing

 _8:17 AM_  

**Bits**

probably

_8:17 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Well I certainly think so

_8:18 AM_

**Bits**

Just tell me. I can’t take it :(

_8:18 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

I talked to your dad like 5 min ago

 _8:21 AM_  

**Bits**

Oh Christ. What did he say this time?

 _8:22 AM_  

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

He said yes

_8:22 AM_

**Bits**

Okayyyyyyy can you be more cryptic Mr. Zimmermann?

 _8:26 AM_  

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

I asked him if I could marry you

_8:28 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Bittle you there

_8:31 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Did you fall into the dough or

_8:35 AM_

**Bits**

YOU DID WHAT?!

_8:37 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

What?

 _8:38 AM_  

**Bits**

JACK WHAT 

_8:39 AM_

**Bits**

YOU DID WHAT??? YOU

 _8:39 AM_  

**Bits**

MY DAD

 _8:40 AM_  

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

That’s how y’all do it right you ask permission??

 _8:40 AM_  

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Well I asked permission and he said yes

_8:41 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Your mom said hell yes if that helps

 _8:41 AM_  

**Bits**

Wait I’m not understanding 

_8:43 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

What aren’t you understanding, I thought it was pretty simple

_8:44 AM_

**Bits**

Are you fucking chirping me?

_8:45 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Haha :)

_8:45 AM_

**Bits**

Jack, are you serious?

_8:48 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Yeah, you wanna marry me

_8:49 AM_

**Bits**

That’s literally the least romantic way anyone has been ever asked to marry anyone else

_8:55 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Is that a no or

_8:55 AM_

**Bits**

You know what? I have to think about it.

_9:00 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Aw :(

_9:00 AM_

**Bits**

Oh my God, you’re using smileys

_9:01 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

That was a frowney

_9:02 AM_

**Bits**

Ffs Jack!!!! Are you serious?

_9:05 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

About the frowney yes

_9:05 AM_

**Bits**

Jack oh my god

_9:19 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

:)

_9:19 AM_

**Bits**

You’re in a good mood

_9:21 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Are you marrying me or not my mom wants to know

_9:24 AM_

**Bits**

GOD!!!!!!

 _9:26 AM_  

**Bits**

I guess I am UGH you beast

_9:26 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

I love you too baby

 _9:29 AM_  

**Bits**

DON’T START WITH THE PET NAMES YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DO TO ME

_9:30 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Haha :-*

_9:31 AM_

**Bits**

Goddddddddddddddd

_9:31 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

I’ll see you tonight right

_9:31 AM_

**Bits**

Yes. I love you.

_9:32 AM_

**This Boy <3 <3 <3**

Go tweet about it

 _9:34 AM_  

**Bits**

THANK YOU!!!!

_9:39 AM_


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 27 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [accidental outing. please read carefully–happy ending, good feelings, etc. but. accidental outing. also mentions of anxiety.]

_20\. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”_

 

They had prepared carefully for weeks on how to come out to Bitty’s parents, but over Christmas break, with Jack in San Jose, at seven o’clock in the morning in Georgia, Bitty accidentally texts love to Jack to his dad instead. 

 _Coach_  is right below  _Jack <3_ in Bitty’s texts, and he’s tired from the late game the night before and doesn’t think. He sends off the text, and it’s only when he gets a response that he’s surprised—he knows Jack is still sleeping on the west coast.

**Coach**

I don’t think this was meant for me

_7:02 AM_

Bitty’s pre-coffee confusion makes him re-read his dad’s text, then he looks at the one he sent right above it.  _I just want to tell you again how great your game was last night. Hat tricks are sexy ;) Call me after your run. Love you! :)_

He’s never felt so cold and so hot at the same time. Something like poison settles in his stomach. He’s holding his breath as though that will help, but all he can see is his dad’s text, carefully unemotional.  _I don’t think this was meant for me_.

Of course it wasn’t meant for him. It was meant for Jack, only Jack, and Bitty’s father has now seen it, and now Coach  _has to know_ who this was supposed to go to, he watched the game with Bitty after all, and now Coach is probably thinking back to July when Jack visited and is probably questioning everything that’s ever happened with his only child.

Bitty sits down hard on the chair at the kitchen table. His parents are both out running early morning errands. They’re together. Did Coach show the text to his mom? Are they coming home early to talk with him? 

He and Jack were going to sit down in January and tell Bitty’s parents together. They were going to be honest without being apologetic, because they have nothing to apologize for. And Bitty cannot do this without Jack.

He pulls out his phone and quadruple-checks the recipient.

_to_ **Jack <3**

I accidentally texted my dad when I meant to text you.

_7:09 AM_

_to_ **Jack <3**

He knows.

_7:09 AM_

_to_ **Jack <3**

You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.

_7:10 AM_

Bitty doesn’t make coffee. Instead, he throws up. Looks at his dad’s text two dozen more times. Tries to figure out a reply. What can he even say? There’s nothing that he can lie about with this, and part of him doesn’t want to.  _Yes_ , he wants to say,  _sorry, that was for Jack :)_  Maybe he can do that. Maybe he can just…do it. Say it was Jack. Jack wouldn’t mind, he doesn’t think. Families first, then the media—that was always their goal.

And Jack hasn’t texted him or called him back, and for the first time Bitty feels left alone. He has no one to call, no one who can help him navigate these suddenly turbulent waters. Bitty has been exposed in a way he wanted to control, and that control has been taken from him because he’s an  _idiot_ who can’t send a  _text right_.

His phone buzzes and he clutches it like it’s a bomb ready to go off.

**Coach**

Do you want anything at the bakery

_7:27 AM_

Coach can see that Bitty has seen both of his texts now. He can’t pretend he didn’t. But if he responds to this one and not the other one, what does that mean? What will Coach see? Think? Feel?

_to_ **Coach**

Raspberry scones? Thanks.

_7:28 AM_

Play it safe. Play it cool. Bitty tries to take deep breaths but he’s stifled yet again. Is  _this_ what Jack feels when his anxiety takes hold of him? This hot band of shattering nerves around his chest? Bitty can’t breathe, and he finds himself rocking back and forth because that helps him focus a little more, and oh God this is what Jack goes through almost every day. 

His phone buzzes. 

**Coach**

Out of raspberry, mama says there’s raspberry jam in the fridge. Want vanilla?

_7:31 AM_

_to_ **Coach**

Sure sounds good thanks

_7:32 AM_

Bitty puts his head between his knees and starts to cry.

*

His parents get home before Jack responds to his texts, and Bitty’s first instinct is to figure out where to hide. His father has never hit him before—has never even come close, has never yelled at him—but Bitty is afraid of him and always has been, because he has seen the disappointment in his father’s eyes when he looks at his only son, and Bitty  _hates_ disappointing people. He would rather have been hit than to see that on his face. 

His mother’s talking about Theresa’s new Kenmore washer and dryer, and how they should budget for a new washer and dryer since theirs is getting on fifteen years, honey, people have suffered enough. 

When they walk into the kitchen, Coach gives Bitty nothing more than a glance before he starts setting bags on top of the counters. “Hey Junior,” he says, and his voice sounds very calm, “come help me unload, will ya?”

His mom ruffles his hair as she walks by him. “I’ll get the jam started on those scones. Good idea, Dickey.”

Feeling like he is heading to his own funeral, Bitty follows Coach outside to help him bring more groceries in. It’s a crisply cold December day in Georgia, but Bitty doesn’t feel the cold at all. He only feels dread.

“So, uh,” Coach says, and Bitty wonders if it’s possible to roll himself over with the car’s tires. It’s parked and shut off. Maybe if he put it in neutral? “Zimmermann had a great hat trick last night.” 

“Yeah,” Bitty says, accepting the reusable bags from his dad. All of them were gifts from Lardo after one of her art installations came down. “Second this season.”

“That’s impressive as hell,” Coach says, and Bitty doesn’t know where he’s going with this. Mrs. Kowalski is checking her mail, so he has a witness, at least. “He, uh. He’s a great player.”

Bitty’s laden down like a pack mule but doesn’t complain. He feels like it’s his penance for fucking up the text. “Yeah, he is.”

Coach is flushed. It’s December, so it’s not because of heat. He looks like he’s really grinding something in his teeth. “He’s a good fella.”

“Yeah.” Bitty doesn’t have any other words besides agreements.

“He’s your, uh.”

Bitty is ready for Jesus to take him at any moment. “Yeah.”

“Ah, okay.” He shuts the trunk and scratches at his head. “Okay. Let’s get inside before it gets too cold.”

Bitty follows him inside and unloads all the groceries like a dutiful son, and he feels rather than hears his parents settling at the kitchen table, where they always have their Talks, and he dallies as much as he can with putting things in the fridge until he can’t avoid it anymore. 

He turns around. They’re both looking at each other with their hands curled together, and then they look at him as one unit. Bitty feels trapped and very alone, two against one, and he leans against the counter so his legs don’t give out. 

Fortunately, they do not ask him to sit with them, which they do sometimes when they’re having Important Family Discussions. The last one had been about Bitty’s decision to go to Samwell. His dad had been proud that he was playing hockey at least if he couldn’t play football, but had expressed concerns with checking.  _It’s just as rough as football, son_ , he’d said.  _If you couldn’t do football, what makes hockey different?_ Bitty had said he can skate, and he’s fast.  _Very good point_ , his dad had said, and then had nothing further to contribute to the conversation but it felt like shame anyway.

“We really like Jack,” Mama says. “He’s a very polite young man who is very driven.”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, looking at the floor, then up at them again, forcing himself to meet their eyes. Either his heart is beating so fast he can’t tell, or it’s stopped. 

“He’s got a good head on his shoulders,” Coach says, sounding gruff, “and we can respect how hard he’s worked to get where he is.” He pauses. “So you’re gay?”

“Jesus, honey,” Mama says. “Of all the things you could’ve said, that just came out of your mouth?”

“I just wanted to clarify,” Coach says, and he looks flustered. “I mean, there’s—there are other things someone can be, or—I mean, it doesn’t have to be just  _gay_.”

Mama slaps herself in the face. “Oh my  _God_.” She looks toward Bitty, helpless. “Stop him, just stop him.”

Bitty’s heart unclenches just a little. “No, uh. I’m. I’m gay.” 

“And Jack?” Coach asks. “He has to be…gay too, right? If you are?”

“Not necessarily,” Bitty says, and he wants to tell his dad to fucking Google it if he wants to know about different sexualities, but he tells himself no, his dad is not angry, he is not yelling, he is only ignorant, and if he wants to be less ignorant then Bitty can help him. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it, like, specifically. What he is.” 

“There’s a scale, right?” Coach says, and instead of feeling the sheer terror that’s flooded his veins for the last hour, Bitty is…embarrassed. Embarrassed because his dad is embarrassing him by trying, which is…sweet. And better than fear. 

“Coach, God,” he groans, and Mama groans with him.

“Richard, for God’s sake! It’s called Google!”

“ _Thank you,_  Mother.” 

Coach smooths his mustache with his fingertips. “Do his parents know?”

“Yeah, they do. We told them a couple of months ago.” 

Mama looks upset for a moment. “Were you planning on telling us, too?”

Bitty realizes that he’s hurt her feelings and tries to rectify it. “Yeah, when he visited in January. We wanted to do it together. We told his parents when they both visited for his Boston game.”

“Ah.” She seems to be relieved at that and squeezes Coach’s hands. “I know this wasn’t how you wanted to tell us, but thank you for sharing that with us and being honest just now. It probably wasn’t easy.”

Bitty shakes his head. No, it wasn’t. And if he tries to speak, he’ll only cry.

“Welp,” Coach says, standing and stretching, “the lawn ain’t gonna mow itself. Junior, you tell Jack hi next time you talk to him, you hear? Tell him hat tricks  _are_ pretty sexy.” 

Bitty all but throws himself to the floor.

 

[anon asked:  _Gosh would you ever consider adding a tiny extra bit on to your last fic with bitty speaking to jack or jack replying to bitty? (For the sake of my poor poor heart, I'm imagining jack seeing the texts and its making me anxious :( )_ , so i added the following!]

 

Jack’s alarm goes off at 5:45, giving him ten minutes to pee and get dressed and five minutes to text Bitty, who always gives him a text in the middle of the night. When he finally checks his phone, his heart stops.

**Bits**

I accidentally texted my dad when I meant to text you.

_4:09 AM_

**Bits**

He knows.

_4:09 AM_

**Bits**

You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.

_4:10 AM_

Jack hasn’t felt such a swooping feeling in his stomach in a long time, and he dials Bitty as frantically as he can, heart pounding in his chest. It goes to voicemail. It’s been nearly two hours and Bitty has been alone.

_to_ **Bits**

I’m awake call me

_5:57 AM_

Jack goes for his run like he always does, but he keeps his hand clutched around his phone, waiting for it to buzz. Halfway through his fifteenth lap around the hotel block, it rings. He stops so fast he almost pulls a muscle, answering it as fast as he can. 

“Bits? Everything okay? Are you okay?”

“Bits is fine,” a male voice says, one that Jack doesn’t recognize. Confusion ebbs in his head. He’s talking to Coach Bittle.

“Oh, uh.”

Coach laughs. “He’s rolling out dough and said I should call you back so you don’t get worried. His phone was charging. He’s fine. We’re all fine.”

Jack feels like he’s in a strange movie, maybe one by M. Night Shyamalan. “Um.”

“Let me put you on speaker.”

When Jack hears Bitty’s voice, it’s like everything inside him eases. “Hey h—Jack,” Bitty says, and he sounds a bit reedy but otherwise normal. “Coach and I are making you cookies.”

“The maple ones,” Coach says. 

Jack tries to sound normal. “Sounds good. Uh, y’all have fun with that.”

“Don’t sound right coming from him,” Coach says, and Bitty laughs.

“I’ll call you later,” Bitty says. “You finish your run.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Should be done in half an hour.” He hesitates. He’s still on speakerphone.

Bitty says it anyway. “Love you.”

Jack says it back.

Coach snorts. “That honeymoon phase is a killer.”

Jack hangs up and finishes his run, and finds that he’s smiling.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 28 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dex/Nursey. Kinda NSFWish.

_21\. “we’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”_

They’re drenched by the time they step out of the library. Nursey starts to make a run for it, but he’s halfway down the block when he realizes he’s alone. He turns around and Dex is walking slowly, his hair plastered a dark auburn on top of his head. 

“What are you doing?” Nursey says, jogging back to him. Their backpacks are hidden underneath their hoodies and they don’t have their laptops with them, but it would sure be nice not to have to blow-dry math homework.

“It feels nice,” Dex says, and his freckles stand out more when he’s chilly, like now, his skin porcelain and soft-looking. Nursey has had dreams about that skin, freckled everywhere, even places the sun may have never touched. It makes him uncomfortable, and it makes him long fiercely. He hates it. 

“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop to feel the rain?”

Dex shrugs. Something’s changed about him at the start of their senior year, and Nursey thinks it could be because he’s just fucking lonely—Nursey personally misses Bitty an awful lot—but it feels like something else. Something bigger. “I just want to stop to enjoy things,” Dex says philosophically, “before they’re gone.”

So they walk together slowly in the rain, and once they’re in the Haus, in their attic, Dex peels out of his clothes layer by layer, and Nursey watches him surreptitiously, pretends to be fiddling with his own clothes, but really he’s watching the way Dex’s skin unfolds and exposes in the hazy gray light outside their window. When Dex is nothing but long pale lines and hard curves, he turns to Nursey, who is still sitting in wet underwear on his bed, pillow on his lap like it’s his only defense.

Dex pulls the pillow away. He looks like he’s been made from marble, sharpened by the love of God into this impossible creation. Nursey has something stuck in his throat. He thinks it’s his heart. 

With impossibly practiced ease, Dex puts a hand to Nursey’s shoulder and pushes him down onto the bed. When he straddles Nursey, Nursey simply looks up at him, until Dex presses palm to palm and pins Nursey’s hands to the bed.

“What are you doing?” Nursey asks, because he has to ask.

“I want to stop to enjoy things before they’re gone,” Dex says, and his mouth is a soft fluttering thing against Nursey’s mouth, and yes, Dex is probably lonely but so is Nursey, and neither of them are going to be going to the NHL, and it’s spring in Samwell, and rainy, and cold, and all they have is each other for warmth.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28 April 2016.

_31\. “You lied to me.”_

Jack remembers the exact words Bitty told him before he got on the plane to Atlanta. “Make sure you pack real light stuff,” he’d said, “like shorts and thin cotton t-shirts. It’s a little hot in July.”

Stepping off the plane and into the tunnel that leads into the airport is like a shock. It’s a wet sort of heat, oppressive and unyielding. He’s played in hot weather before, but this is different. This is breathing in a sponge. And he only has about four seconds of it before the AC hits him. Now Jack’s three-day stay has changed completely in his mind. He can’t  _run_ in this—he’d die. And he doesn’t think the Falconers would appreciate Jack dying before he even starts his two-year contract.

Bitty’s waiting for him at baggage claim, tweeting away on his phone, and when he looks up at Jack he looks both excited and dismayed. 

“Did you not listen to me when I said to pack shorts and t-shirts?” he says, looking Jack up and down. Jack pulls at his t-shirt, which is sticking to his already damp chest, and shrugs out of his flannel.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” he says. “You lied to me.”

Bitty flushes and it’s a beautiful look on him, all summer-kissed, and Jack can’t focus too much on Bitty’s short little shorts or his tank top, because that’s a little too much skin for him to handle right now. “Mr. Zimmermann. What on earth did I lie to you about?”

“You said it was a little hot in July,” Jack says, hip-checking him as they go to stand by the baggage carousel. It’s as much contact as he’ll let himself have until they’re alone, when his hungry hands and hungry eyes can feast. “This is Satan’s sauna.” 

Bitty throws his head back and laughs, and there’s sweat pooling at the base of his throat. It’s going to be a miserable few days, but Jack rather likes it when Bitty’s pink and damp. “I tried to ease you into it.”

“There’s nothing ‘easing’ about this, this is miserable. Why do y’all live down here again?”

The  _y’all_  does it. Bitty laughs again, his dark eyes crinkling up in delight, and Jack clenches his fists together and tells his fingers no, you can’t, you can’t reach out and touch his hair or his mouth or the curve of his ear, no. “Jack, it’s 2015. We have air conditioning.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?”

Bitty gazes up at him, and his expression is adoring. It’s the only word for it. Nobody has ever looked at Jack like that without dollar signs in their eyes too. “I promise I’ll make this trip fun.”

Jack flicks a look down at Bitty’s mouth, then up again. “I know you will.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted (I think) on 5 May 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From guisendisguise on tumblr (I promised I’d write this one first when I started prompts again).

There’s something invigorating about waking up in his own apartment on a day where he has zero responsibility to anyone but himself, and even then that’s something he can negotiate. It’s not quite six, but Jack is awake—Jack is awake, not for hockey, not for obligations, but because he wants to be.

Jack only gets up early because he has to. He’s never been one to be anything but sleepy and grumpy at least until eight. But his bed partner, usually the perky, wide-awake one, is asleep, and as Jack looks at Bitty’s golden shoulder bared by the comforter, he wants nothing more than to pounce on him and wake him up in style.

He pokes Bitty in the butt until Bitty groans. “Jack, knock it off,” Bitty mumbles, burying under the covers until only a tuft of golden hair is visible. Bitty is  _always_ the first one up and out of bed (not at four in the morning or anything, but he’s used to getting up early and baking), but Jack doesn’t want him to be asleep. He wants him to wake up. So he pokes Bitty in the butt until he gets swatted at, then he pokes Bitty in the back, then the ear.

“C’mere,” Jack says. “Let’s get up. Spend all day together.”

“You can spend all day by yourself.”

Bitty has never been grumpy like this before. Jack frowns. “But I have the day off.” 

“So do I. Guess how I’m gonna spend it? Like this.”

“But—”

“Jack, go away.”

Jack reclines on his pillow for a moment, staring up at the high wood beams of his ceiling. Well. This isn’t exactly…what he was expecting. Honestly, he figured Bitty would get right up, happily, and make some of his great coffee and they’d build a breakfast together and then lazily make out on the couch. But Bitty is being grumpy. And Jack has so much energy in him he wants to burst.

He rolls out of bed and pulls on pants before heading into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Maybe the scent will rouse Bitty and they can start making out on the couch and watch the sun come up.

But nobody joins him in the kitchen.

Jack starts to whip together the pancakes, knowing that the smell of things cooking usually brings Bitty into the kitchen to make a big fuss over him and push him away from the stove.

But he finishes making pancakes alone. 

Jack stares at his pancakes and wanders back into the bedroom, where an impossibly small lump is the only indication that there is someone else in his bed. Jack goes over to Bitty’s side and bends down, pulling the covers back slowly, until Bitty opens one glowering brown eye.

“Mr. Zimmermann.”

“Mr. Bittle.”

He can tell Bitty’s smiling, just a little. “You’re not going to let me sleep in, are you?” 

“You can sleep in tomorrow. I promise.”

In one fluid motion, Bitty throws the covers off, naked save for his blue briefs. “ _Fine_ ,” he says, and Jack rather loves his dramatic inflection, “but you have to carry me.”

That is  _certainly_ not a problem, Jack knows, but before he picks Bitty up and manhandles him into the living room, he gives him a little incentive for waking up early.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 6 April 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made my own numbers meme because I couldn't find one that really inspired me. You can find it here: http://marswithghosts.tumblr.com/post/143943313830/fic-prompts
> 
> I am still taking prompts, but it will take me a while to get through them! (There are 33 unique prompt requests to fill, oh lord). If you like my list, please feel free to reblog for yourself so you can also fill prompt requests. :)

_8.) “It kills me when you look at me like that.”_

Half of the Falconers are at the Samwell Mens Hockey Team’s first home game of the year, all wearing Zimmermann jerseys because they think they’re funny, and situated around Jack, who is wearing his old Samwell jersey to represent the team. 

Bitty tries so hard not to look over at the stands, but it’s strange having Jack in the Faber but not on the ice, sitting on the bleachers instead of standing beside Bitty, giving encouragement in the form of words, smiles, and fist bumps. 

Jack fist bumped everyone right before the game in the locker room, told them good luck, but his eyes when he looked at Bitty were filled with longing, so obvious it was like a caress. Bitty almost couldn’t breathe after that, and when Chowder asked him if he was okay, he had to nod and wave because he didn’t know if he could speak in a normal voice. 

He hasn’t gotten a chance to spend any time at all with Jack in a month due to their schedules, and this? This is torture. Being so close and knowing he can’t do anything about it.

“I heard Tater talking about you,” Nursey tells him when they settle back in their bench for the second period. He refuses to look behind him where Jack is sitting, not ten feet away. “Said you were the fastest little guy he’d ever seen in his life.”

Bitty laughs at that. “Lord, he hasn’t been around much, has he?”

Nursey knocks his shoulder into Bitty’s. “Don’t sell yourself short–uh, no pun intended. You look like a blur on the ice.”

Bitty blushes and accepts the compliment, the back of his neck prickling. He wonders if Jack is looking at him. Between their Skype session the night before and today’s game, Bitty succumbed to the chop; his fade is sharp and clean, and he thinks Jack might like it but he’s not sure. 

“We’re thinking Haus party,” Ransom says, leaning over Dex to talk to Bitty. “With the Falconers. Jack texted and said they’d be fine with a few hours.”

Oh, lord. Oh no, oh lord. Bitty is not going to be able to behave for several hours at the Haus with Jack where he can’t touch him. But he nods. Tries to smile. “Yeah, great idea! I can make a few pies for us.”

“Bits, you don’t always have to make pies,” Nursey says. “It’s nice just having you around for company.”

“Aww.”

“Don’t hit on Bitty,” Tango says. “He’s taken.”

Bitty stares at him, his heart falling right into his butt. “What? No I’m not.”

Tango frowns at him. “But that guy in your French class? You two aren’t…?”

Relief makes him light-headed, and he gives a genuine laugh. “Aw, honey, no. I’ve been teaching him to bake for his girlfriend. We are not dating.”

Tango doesn’t look like he believes him, but he doesn’t say anything else. Bitty swears to himself he’s going to keep a closer eye on that kid; Tango has come dangerously close to guessing who Bitty texts all the time. 

Samwell wins the game 3-1, and Chowder gets a career-high 36 saves. Somehow, maybe with the help of the Haus ghosts, the kegster has already started by the time Bitty gets there, only a few minutes later than everyone else because he had to run to the store for more milk. 

He looks for Jack through the crowd and doesn’t find him, but Tater makes a beeline for him, barreling into him and drawing him into a hug so tight it makes Bitty go stiff and breathless until Tater lets him go. _At least_ , Bitty thinks, _I didn’t collapse on the floor like I usually do_. 

“Tiny guy!” Tater shouts. “So fast! You look like blur on ice!”

“Thank you,” Bitty says, taking a quick step back and blushing. “I’m glad we won for y'all.”

“And the accent! It is so cute, yes? Zimmboni says you are fastest skater he ever saw, and I agree! Come, we have a drink!”

“I was gonna,” Bitty says, but then he’s grabbed and shoved through the crowd, and he decides maybe pie baking will come later. 

He still doesn’t see Jack. 

It’s only when he gets away nearly an hour later, hiding in the bathroom and trying to breathe and trying not to be too tipsy, that he can check his phone. 

 **Jack:** In your room  _(10:09PM)_

Bitty doesn’t think he’s ever hurtled up the stairs like that before. He looks around, checking for witnesses, and goes into his room with his heartbeat pulsing in his throat. The only light is what comes through the window from the lamp post by the street. Hands slide around Bitty’s hips from behind–he would know those hands anywhere–and he leans back in the darkness against Jack’s broad chest, shuddering hard. 

“Hi,” Jack says, right in his ear, and Bitty is embarrassed to feel tears prickling at his eyes. He turns around in Jack’s arms to wind closer to him, Jack’s mouth falling on his, and Bitty makes a long, low noise in his throat. 

“Jack, Jack,” he says, and when he pulls back just a little, Jack’s eyes are dark and intense. “God. It kills me when you look at me like that.”

“I couldn’t stop looking at you,” he says, and his fingertips brush through the newly shorn hair at the nape of Bitty’s neck. “You looked so good. It was amazing watching you play and just…enjoying you.”

Bitty kisses him again, his whole body surging into the moment, Jack’s mouth a focused respite from the raucous music and yelling downstairs. He walks Jack back to the bed, pushes him down, climbs on him, and kisses him again. He knows they’ll have to rejoin the party shortly, separately, and won’t be able to touch again until next weekend in Providence, but even in their short time Bitty falls in love with Jack all over like it’s the first time.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 7 May 2016

_45.) “I did NOT think that was gonna fit.”_

Moving all of his stuff into Jack’s Providence apartment after graduation is an arduous task. Bitty doesn’t have a lot of things, really, and so many of what he really needs were already spending nearly a year in Jack’s apartment anyway, but still–it’s an interesting Saturday to be sure.

Really, his parents were trying to be over-helpful and over-supportive. And when the Zimmermanns saw how much the Bittles were helping, they wanted to help too.

Jack’s apartment had been previously fairly austere and minimalistic. Other than a few of Lardo’s paintings on the walls, he didn’t have a lot of personal touches before Bitty started moving little things in–like his Georgia banner and Señor Bun. He had space enough for three couches in the living room, but had only one; he could’ve used a dresser but shoved everything in the closet instead; and the loft upstairs was completely bare, though Bitty saw potential in making it a sort of media space, with room enough for a desk so he could continue his vlogs, a TV, and bookshelves. When one person lived there, it was fine; but with two, some changes had to be made, and Jack was all too happy to make them. 

Coach, determined to prove that he is The Most Accepting Dad, takes Jack to Atlantic Furniture while Mr. Jack’s Dad accompanies Bitty to the Warwick Target to help him get what was on his list.

While Bitty is inspecting throw pillows, he gets a text from Jack:  _Your dad’s not letting me pay._

Bitty grins a little and texts him back:  _Your dad is also not going to let me pay, he’s already said so. Just let them do what they want haha it’s a Dad Thing :)_

Bitty receives a heart for his trouble, and has to clutch his phone to his chest for a moment, unable to believe that this is really happening, that he and Jack are out, that he’s going to be living with him in Providence, that their parents are being so helpful and supportive.

Hours later, after Mr. Jack’s Dad has insisted on getting a new TV for that upstairs loft, he and Bitty walk into the apartment and have a hard time believing what they’re seeing. Furniture delivery has already gone through (“What on earth did you put on that credit card?” Mama asks), and Coach says what Bitty’s thinking as they all survey the living room, now looking much smaller, and much cozier, than before.

“I did NOT think that was gonna fit.”

“We work miracles,” Mrs. Zimmermann says, and she and Mama high five. 

Jack, who is unwrapping the new silverware, gives Bitty a wink, and Bitty gives him a smile back, and later, when their parents have left and they are in their bedroom under their sheets and curling their hands together, Jack murmurs his love, lightly, and Bitty echoes it with a sigh.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 7 May 2016.

_1.) “When did we get a cat?”_

Jack is not actually a morning person. He gets up early because he has to, but if he had no obligations, if he didn’t have a schedule to keep or things to do or games to prepare for, Jack would happily sleep in until noon.

But Jack, against his will, gets up at six most mornings to start his day, which sometimes takes a while before he can really focus. Bitty knows this. Bitty is a morning person. Sometimes it’s a little gross, how chipper he is when Jack rolls his ass out of bed and trudges into their kitchen, assaulted with the mouth-watering scent of French-pressed coffee, scrambled egg whites with spinach and feta, whole-wheat blueberry pancakes, warming maple syrup, and fresh cut fruit.

Bitty is so good to him, sometimes Jack can’t hardly stand the feeling in his chest, like his ribcage is threatening to break from the sheer size of his heart. Bitty is so good to him, and Jack is determined to be just as good back. So he curls his arms around Bitty’s waist from behind, still fuzzy with sleep, and kisses at his neck.

“Morning,” Bitty says, and he has finally learned, thank God, to turn down his sweet, chipper voice when Jack has just woken up. “Think you can manage breakfast first thing?”

“I think so, yeah. Thank you.”

He sees it before he hears it–a flash of orange fur on the counter right next to the carton of eggs. Then there’s a meow, and Jack wakes up much faster than usual.

“When did we get a cat?”

Bitty turns around and looks at him, both eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “Is this the first time you’ve noticed the cat?”

“…If you’re asking me that, I’m going to assume that  _yes_ will be a strange answer.”

“Jack, she’s been coming around like every morning for over a week. I don’t know who her human is, but she’s literally in here with us every morning. She just doesn’t talk much.”

Jack stares at the cat. The cat looks coolly back at him with green eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I thought you noticed,” Bitty says with a snort. “ _Wow_ , Jack. Great eye-hand coordination on the ice, but Lord, you’re useless when you’re sleepy.”

“Did you name her?”

Bitty reaches out and wiggles his fingers at the cat, and she bumps into them with her forehead. She is a  _very_ loud purrer. Did Jack think that noise was the dishwasher? It almost sounds like a dishwasher. “Of course not. She’s not mine to name.”

Jack doesn’t see a collar. “I guess you can keep her around in the mornings,” he says, and he’s certain that eventually this cat is not going to leave. “Have you put up any flyers to see if she’s lost?”

“Not yet,” Bitty says, and there’s a wistful tone to his voice as he scratches under the cat’s chin. “I  _will_ , I know what you’re thinking, I know we can’t keep her.”

Jack settles at the breakfast table to sip at his coffee, watching Bitty lean on the counter and bump his forehead into the cat’s. “If she doesn’t belong to anyone,” Jack says, pouring exactly one tablespoon of maple syrup onto his pancakes, “then you’d better name her.”

“Delilah,” Bitty says, and Jack simply grins down at his breakfast.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 10 May 2016 (I think).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for anxiety and panic attacks. Also angst. There is also an extensive silent treatment, which some people may find to be triggering for emotional abuse/manipulation.

_18.) “You need to grow up.”_

It’s their first fight as a couple. Bitty’s not sure what he was expecting, but he and Jack have certainly fought  _plenty_ the entire time they’ve known each other. Bitty is under no illusions about Jack’s…he would politely call it his  _negative side_. He’s broody, grumpy, snippy—basically, he’s the hockey version of the Seven Dwarves. Bitty knows this. He is well aware that Jack gets into these moods and becomes unreasonable and childish. 

He just never quite had that directed at him after his freshman semester, and hearing Jack use such an ugly tone with him is a bit of a shock.

The words roll around in Bitty’s head even as silence falls between them.

“Bits,” Jack says, and his face isn’t glaring any longer, he’s shocked at himself for what he’s said, and he’s reaching a hand out to the screen as if he can touch Bitty. Bitty doesn’t want to be touched.

Bitty closes the lid on his laptop and goes for a walk, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He’s forgotten his hoodie and it’s cold, but the cold air helps him focus. On Jack’s words, his expression. Bitty hadn’t thought he’d said anything before that to trigger such an outburst (“Aw, okay—I miss you so much, but I understand” in response to Jack saying he couldn’t make it that weekend) but apparently he was wrong. Apparently, Jack felt like he needed to say what he said.

 _I’m trying my fucking best here, Bittle, I can’t do everything you want me to_.

Bitty takes four laps around the lake before returning to the Haus, where he left his phone on his bed. There are six texts from Jack that he does not read and two missed calls, but Bitty’s feeling frigid in his heart, and petty, and he doesn’t respond to any of them. For one of the first times since he’s been at Samwell, he willingly does his homework instead, bakes a pie, and has to tell Ransom and Holster to mind their bees when they try to get him to talk to Jack. “He just texted us,” Holster says, one foot in the kitchen but no more because he’s clearly afraid. “He said you two had a fight?”

“That wasn’t a fight,” Bitty says, because it wasn’t—a fight implies equal footing.  _They_ did not have a fight. Jack Zimmermann threw a fucking fit. “I’ll call him when I’m ready to call him.”

Ransom clears his throat. “Bits, he’s pretty—”

“Get out,” Bitty says, and they fall over each other as they try to leave. Ransom and Holster mean well, he knows, but he’s come to the conclusion that it was  _not_ his fault, and he’s not going to cater to Jack Zimmermann’s hurt feelings, because Jack Zimmermann was an  _ass_ and Bitty doesn’t deserve to be treated the way he had been.

It’s a full forty-eight hours before he decides to text Jack back, and in that time there have been two more missed phone calls, three Skype attempts, seventeen texts, two calls from Shitty, one from Lardo, and multiple efforts from Samwell Mens Hockey Team to get Bitty to talk to Jack. Bitty can tell that the Tango and Whiskey attempt was clear bribery on Jack’s part.

Chowder, it seems, is the last to give it a shot, knocking on Bitty’s open door and saying, “Hey Bitty, I just—”

“He’s in the wrong,” Bitty interrupts, “and I’m not going to baby him about it.”

“Oh.” Chowder tilts his head. “Okay, then.”

“I’ll talk to him later.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Chowder says, and Bitty so loves his adopted child. “I’m just worried about you.”

Bitty sighs. “I’m okay, Chowder. I’m just really mad at him.”

Chowder frowns. “I’ve never had a fight with Farmer. You guys aren’t—I mean, are you—”

“I don’t think we’re breaking up,” Bitty says slowly, because he doesn’t think they are—not over something like this—but Lord knows he’s not going to put up with this more than once. He may love Jack more than life, but he respects himself first and foremost. Queen Bey taught him that, and he’s not going to waste such a valuable lesson. “But we have a lot of talking to do.”

Nodding, Chowder takes a step back. “I’m right over there if you need me,” he says, pointing to his room as though Bitty might not have known where to find him otherwise. “I’m awful at relationship advice, but we could watch the Sharks play if you want.”

Bitty has to laugh at that. “Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.”

An hour later, he texts Jack back. 

 **Bitty:** I’m here.  _(8:37PM)_

His phone rings almost immediately, and as Bitty looks at Jack’s goofy face on his screen, he wonders, briefly, if this really is it. Maybe they won’t be able to recover from this. For some people, it’s one and done—one fight (or hissy fit) and they can’t work through it. That could be them. They could be any of those people. What they have might not be as special as he thinks it is. 

He answers the call. “Hello?”

“Bits, God, I’m so sorry, I can’t tell you how sorry I am,  _crisse_ , please—” 

“I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry,” Bitty says, “until you can tell me what you’re sorry for.”

Jack is silent. “Um…”

“What are you sorry for? Why are you apologizing?” 

More silence. Bitty knows Jack is inept with words, but he needs to learn to use them. “I upset you,” he says.

“Yes, you did. Do you know what you said that upset me?”

“Bitty, you know I have trouble talking—”

“You need to grow up,” he says, and he forces himself to keep his voice calm as he clenches his fist, taking a breath. “I’m putting a lot into this relationship here, and I need you to learn to use your words with me. Not to tear me down, but to talk to me. I’m not going to—”  _I’m not going to put up with that_ , he wants to say, but Jack needs to come to that conclusion on his own. Bitty did nothing wrong. “What do you think you said that upset me?” 

“I’m trying my fucking best here, Bittle, I can’t do everything you want me to,” Jack says, and his tone now is absolutely miserable. He remembers it word for word, and part of Bitty finds satisfaction in that. Good. He wants Jack to remember those words, and remember the way he feels right now, because it’s half of what Bitty felt when those stupid words came out. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Then you need to figure out why so it doesn’t happen again,” Bitty says. “You made me feel like shit, Jack.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“I know you’re sorry, but if you’re so sorry, why did you even say it?”

The silence on Jack’s end goes on so long Bitty checks twice to see if their call is still connected, but he doesn’t interrupt. “You were there,” he says at last, and his tone is slow, and infinitely more miserable than it was before. “I was frustrated and you were there, and I needed to get my frustration out, and I told myself that you were—”

“That I was what? A whiny, nagging boyfriend?”

“No, God no. I—Bitty, please.”

“I’m not wrong, am I?”

It takes him longer to notice that Jack is crying. It’s a quiet little thing in the background, punctuated by sniffles that sound like Jack has pulled the phone away, hitching breaths. “I know I have this problem,” Jack says. “I know I…do this. Repeatedly to the people I love.”

“Have you talked to your therapist about this?”

“Not yet. I will.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Because I haven’t felt so out of control in a long time.” His voice sounds stuffy, and Bitty’s heart unclenches just a little. God, but even when Jack makes him so mad, all he wants to do is hold him. “I feel completely out of control. I don’t know what to do.”

Bitty settles comfortably on his bed, since he can tell they’re in for a long talk. “Jack, this isn’t new for you. You’ve been dealing with this your whole life. You’ve been really good at managing your anxiety, and I know you’re on a healthy dose of meds and seeing a therapist regularly, and we’ve always talked about how important your schedule is to managing your stress, but here’s the thing—you were, quite frankly, a fucking asshole to me. No, don’t interrupt. I’m not done yet. You were an asshole. And I know you’ve behaved this way to your teammates and they’ve shrugged it off—Jack Zimmermann having one of his bitch-fits again. But that wasn’t what this was. You treated me like shit, and I’m not going to put up with it.” 

Jack is so quiet for so long Bitty is certain their phone has been disconnected. All he hears is silence. Then, Jack says, in the smallest voice, “I don’t know if I’m apologizing for saying the words or feeling like I wanted to say them, or letting myself get to such a point where I felt the need to say them. I was so angry in that moment, and it wasn’t really at you. It’s—I’m angry at my situation, and it was easier to focus that on you than actually do something about it or tell someone I feel—I’m lost, I’m feeling overwhelmed. I can’t be a failure. I don’t want to be a failure. And I feel like one every day, and when they tell me about these new charities and appearances and they take away my time with you, I feel like I’m—I’m spiraling down and I don’t know where to go and what direction is up, and I didn’t think it would be so hard without you? Because this whole summer most of our life has been on Skype, and that’s been fine, but we had plans and I had to break them, and you took it so well it made me angry because—because—because I don’t know if I could do the same thing in your position. And I’m so sorry for treating you the way I did, it was completely unfair, and I can’t promise that I won’t do it again because I don’t ever want to break a promise to you, but I can promise I’m—”

He has to stop because he’s crying so hard Bitty can barely understand him. So Bitty does what he does—he shushes Jack gently, tells him to take a breath, baby, this is a good thing, talking is  _good_ , and he’s not  _mad_ anymore, he’s just concerned, so honey take a breath. 

When Jack speaks, he’s much more calm. So calm, in fact, that he sounds almost dazed. Bitty feels awful—this is Jack post-panic attack, and he can hear it in his voice. “I can’t promise I won’t do it again,” Jack murmurs, sounding more French than ever, “but I can promise that I will bring it up with my therapist so I can find a healthier outlet for my…my outbursts, and I will try harder to—to be more—vocal with you so we can just talk first. Before it gets to that point.”

“Take your Xanax,” Bitty says softly. “Please.”

“One sec.”

Bitty hears some shuffling around, and then Jack is back on the phone, his voice deep and low and soft. “Okay, I just did.”

“I love you, Jack. I love you so, so much. You know that, right?”

“Sometimes I have no idea why. But yes, I know.”

“And this is all I want us to do in the future. Just talk it out. I understand your stress and your frustration, and trust me when I say that I am  _in this_ with you. But I did not deserve the way you treated me.”

Jack swallows audibly. “I know. I am very sorry.”

“I accept your apology, baby. Of course I do.” He cradles his phone to his ear with a sigh. “I did not mean to send you into a panic attack. That was thoughtless of me; I should’ve texted you yesterday, at least.”

Jack’s so quick to the rebuttal that it makes Bitty smile. “No, no, no. You had every right, trust me, I knew I fucked up and I just had to wait it out. Really, I was okay until, like, right now. I was really okay.”

“I won’t do that again, though. That wasn’t fair to you, no matter what my feelings were. I apologize for stressing you out more by not responding.”

There’s a moment of silence. “I accept your apology,” he says, and the words sound strange, like he’s not used to giving and accepting sorries. “I love you,” he adds, and Bitty closes his eyes, because each time Jack says it, it feels so  _big_. Serious. Even the little casual  _love you, Bits_  he gets feel almost dreamlike.

“I love you too. I appreciate you listening to me.”

“I…appreciate you listening to me as well.”

Bitty laughs. “Okay, I’m going to take some pity on you and we can stop talking about our feelings. I want it to be clear, though, that I love you very much, and I am very much in this, but I will not tolerate you treating me unfairly. And I don’t expect you to tolerate unfair behavior either.”

“Yes,” Jack says, “and I would—I would maybe—” He sighs. “I would maybe appreciate, if we ever…fight again…just. Letting me know that you need some time to think or something, because then I can just leave you alone.”

It’s a very fair request, and for the first time in his life, Bitty feels like an actual grownup. “Yes, absolutely. I’ll do that. I promise.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I know. You don’t need to say it again, honey, honest. I’ve already accepted your apology, and as far as I’m concerned, I think we can move on. Do you think we can move on? Or is there something else we need to talk about?”

“Just wanna talk about how much I love you,” Jack says, and Bitty flushes deeply. Jack is either all in or all out, and Bitty likes all-in Jack quite a bit.

“I could stand to listen to that for a while,” he says, and he has a feeling that this will be one of those nights where they fall asleep on the phone together, as close as they can get with the miles separating them, murmuring tender things back and forth until one of them eventually slips into a dream.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 11 May 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst.

_26.) “I can’t take it anymore.” & 19.) “I didn’t sign up for this.”_

A seven-year anniversary is not something Bitty ever thought he’d have, much less be celebrating alone. It’s two hours past when Jack said he’d be home from the rink, the dinner Bitty spent six hours on is cold, and there’s something dark and foul poisoning his heart. 

The first time Jack missed something important to Bitty, he brushed it off. Jack’s an NHL star; of course he’s going to miss things, and things they plan won’t go their way. Bitty knew what he’d signed up for. Jack apologized and they moved on.

But Jack hasn’t apologized in a long time, and Bitty knows that the trade was hard on him, knows that packing up and moving to LA was the last thing he wanted to do, but Bitty gave up his bakery for Jack. Bitty closed Bittle’s and moved across the country, and in the year they’ve been in LA Bitty has done his best to be supportive, loving, and understanding. He hasn’t made any friends outside of the team, hasn’t been able to secure a spot he thinks would be worthwhile for a bakery, and all in all–he feels like he’s sacrificed more than enough. They used to be so good at talking together; Bitty doesn’t know when he stopped being interested in fixing things and instead held his hurt close to his heart and let it fester.

So in a display of anger that is becoming more like his norm lately, Bitty trashes the entire dinner, plates and all, takes the garbage out to the curb, and goes to bed where he doesn’t sleep. When Jack comes in, he whispers, “Bits?” and Bitty ignores him.

If Jack thinks he’s being ignored, he doesn’t say anything. Just undresses–Bitty can hear the rustling of his clothes–and heads downstairs. Probably to watch tape. Bitty has never felt so alone in his life.

Throwing off the covers, he storms downstairs and finds Jack, as he expected, in the video room, hunched over on the couch and watching the projector screen intently.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Bitty says, and when Jack looks at him, his blue eyes are so tired. “What the fuck am I even doing here?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I texted you six times to remind you today, but today  _was_ our seven year anniversary.”

Jack looks struck for a moment. “Shit–I’m sorry, I forgot–”

“You forgot? Are you  _serious_?”

Hanging his head, Jack twists his fingers together. “Today was stressful.”

“Well, fucking boo for you,” Bitty says, and all he wants is to hurt Jack the way Jack has hurt him, because somehow that seems fair. Jack doesn’t talk to him about anything anymore. They are two people existing in the same space, separate, never touching, parallel lines running in the same aimless direction. “You’re not the only fucking one in this, Jack, and I’m sick of it. I can’t do this anymore.”

Jack holds his hands out, an empty gesture. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

“Well, I  _kind of_ expected you to give a shit about me, but I guess that’s too much to ask for?”

They stare at each other. Bitty’s ready to burn the place down, he’s so mad. And hurt. And numb. Then Jack puts his face in his hands. “What’s happening to us?”

“Maybe you should look at yourself to find those answers,” Bitty says. “Because I have done  _nothing_ but try to help you through this, and I feel like I don’t even exist. You would do the exact same thing you’re doing now whether I was here or not, so what’s keeping me here? This isn’t worth it anymore.”

Jack turns off the projector, which is a bit of a surprise. Jack hasn’t exactly been the most thoughtful in…Bitty can’t remember, actually. When was the last time he kissed Jack with anything but obligation? “Can we sit and talk?” Jack asks, and Bitty’s first reaction is to say  _no_ , because he’s already tried that, multiple times, and it didn’t go anywhere.

But Jack has not reached out like that in God knows how long. “Fine.” He sits. He doesn’t look at Jack.

“I have,” Jack says, slowly, “not been good to you in a long time, and I know that. I don’t think saying sorry is going to cover all the…hurt feelings. And I know I screwed up today, big time.”

Bitty wants so badly to say something to that, but he doesn’t. He waits. If Jack is finally in the mood to talk, then he’ll let him.

“We used to be better at this,” he says. “I don’t know when it broke, but it did. I don’t want it to stay broken, though. I don’t want you to leave me.”

Strangely, even though Bitty had said the words, that he can’t take it anymore, that he can’t put up with this…he never thought about actually  _leaving_. When he tries to imagine what that would be like–moving back to Georgia, maybe, or reopening Bittle’s, alone, the thought makes him seize up with cold. “I don’t want to leave you, Jack. I never really thought about that. But we can’t continue with what we’re doing. I didn’t sign up for this. I signed up for a husband and a partner, and you haven’t been either of those to me since before we moved to LA.” He pauses, needing to say the words even though he knows how much they will hurt. “I haven’t felt loved by you in a very long time.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath. “I know. I don’t know what to do anymore. There’s so much to fix.”

“I think we need to find someone to talk to,” he says, and Jack nods.

“Marriage counseling. Never thought I’d need that.”

“Nothing wrong with it. If I mean enough to you, if  _this_ means enough to you, we’ll do it.”

Jack holds out a hand and Bitty takes it. His touch is so familiar, but the way Jack looks at him feels almost new. Bitty can’t remember the last time Jack actually looked at him instead of through him or past him. His heart, lonely and aching, skitters in his chest, and he lets Jack draw him close, reacquaints himself with Jack’s broad shoulders, his neck, the curl of his hair at his nape. When they kiss it’s a small thing, overall. One of hundreds of thousands they’ve had over their years together, but it feels important, this little kiss. It feels like the first one.

Jack curls Bitty closer to him and Bitty lets him. He lets Jack’s shaking fingers slide him out of his pajama pants and his t-shirt. Lets Jack undress as well, and then their hands touch skin, stroke, and Jack asks permission for everything–he hasn’t asked in a long time, but again, he hadn’t needed to before–and Bitty says  _yes_ and  _yes_ and  _yes_  and  _yes_.

They make love. The last time they did this, when it felt right like this, was in Providence. It was before there were trade rumors. It was nearly three years ago. He presses his face into Jack’s neck and he cries, and Jack’s broad hands stroke his back and Jack whispers apologies in French, and Bitty only nods. It’s not okay, but he doesn’t want to give this up. He still wants Jack and he still chooses Jack, but they are both going to have to learn to be with one another again. To accept that they have both gone through changes as they’ve gotten older, but to affirm that yes, they are still in this.

Bitty loves on Jack when they’ve both come, stroking fingers through his hair, kissing all over his lovely face. Jack’s little smile is beautiful, and he looks content. Happy. He hasn’t had that expression in LA at all.

“I love you,” Bitty says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You make it hard sometimes, but I love you.”

Jack nuzzles at him. Bitty remembers the first time he did that, shortly after they had a very embarrassing, fumbling coupling in the back of the truck on that Fourth of July. He still loves it, so much. The gesture, the tenderness. “I love you, Bits,” Jack says, and Bitty sighs.

“I want to work through this. But I don’t want us to say we’re going to do that and not do it. I want us to start making calls tomorrow. You’re off, and this needs to be a priority.”

Jack nods. When he pulls back, Bitty sees how miserable he is. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t if you at least try this with me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Bitty lets Jack carry him to bed, and they curl up together under the sheets, hands laced, talking quietly. Not about the hurt or anything important, but about the little things–possibly renovating the downstairs guest bathroom, getting more chlorine for the pool, Bitty’s frustration with the new Whole Foods cashier girl who is  _just not with the program_.

Jack falls asleep with his head on Bitty’s chest, and Bitty stays awake for the rest of the night, simply holding him, remembering how it was before and knowing how it can be again.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted I don't know when, oops. I was looking at my zimbits tag on tumblr and completely forgot about this fic. My bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dex/Nursey.

_2.) “I thought it was a good idea at the time, but it now occurs to me that I was horribly wrong.”_

Fall epikegster of their sophomore year, and Nursey is dutifully bringing cup after cup of tub juice to Ransom, in the hopes that he will earn himself dibs. It’s his goal for this year–do whatever Ransom and/or Holster want and secure a  spot in the Haus. He’s not dumb enough to go after Lardo–she’d make his life a living hell, and frankly, he’s scared of her. But Ransom and Holster are easy to please, and Nursey just wants out of the damn dorms.

It seems like Dex has the same idea, as he’s currently letting Holster blame him for inappropriate Haus shenanigans. He and Nursey meet eyes across the room, and Dex raises one eyebrow and Nursey raises the other, and they both sigh. The quest for dibs is real.

Throughout the long night, Nursey and Dex keeping bumping into one another–in the kitchen, while they help Bitty with mini pies; in the upstairs bathroom as they trade; in the basement to get more beer from the fridge. Dex looks unnecessarily good in green, and Nursey doesn’t think he’s the only one to notice that Dex has gotten broader in the shoulders, biceps, and forearms over the summer, and that he’s been doing a good job maintaining it during the school year. Nursey is not as embarrassed by this stupid (asinine, ridiculous) crush as he used to be, but he’s still a little embarrassed by it and uses all the Haus’ pockets of darkness to keep an eye on Dex, who’s now losing on purpose on beer pong to boost Holster’s ego.

The night goes on. The night goes on and Nursey doesn’t drink as much so he can fetch things as needed, and Dex isn’t exactly playing beer pong anymore–he’s supervising and giving all points to Holster, and at some point in the night they seem to draw together like they always do, everywhere, even on campus going opposite directions, even when Nursey is supposed to be in the English hall and he finds himself instead by the computer labs. Dex stands near him in a dark corner, and Nursey is a little surprised to find that Dex’s hand, wide and warm, presses against his waist. He doesn’t move. Sometimes Dex can get like this–where he needs some sort of grounding because he doesn’t like change, doesn’t like things getting confusing or feeling awkward, and so he stands still and he lets Dex invade his space–invites him, really, by edging closer almost without realizing what he’s doing (almost).

The Haus music is techno, and Nursey can hear it but he can’t, because Dex’s eyes are this wide, soft, golden-brown, and they’re close, and Dex is close, and Dex’s breath is even closer. Nursey stays still. Dex’s hand on his waist moves to his back, underneath his blue flannel, and up his t-shirt to his bare back. Nursey stays still. Then Dex’s mouth is on his–he only has to tip his face and lean in–and Nursey stays still.

When Dex pulls away, the Haus music gets louder.

“Um,” Dex says, then, “um” again. “I thought it was a good idea at the time, but it now occurs to me that I was horribly wrong.”

“It’s an awful idea,” Nursey tells him, taking in his freckles, his strangely wide mouth. He wants to kiss it again. He wants to keep kissing it. “But I’m okay with it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Should we…?”

“Yeah,” Nursey says, because it’s not often they need words but sometimes they need a few of them, and now that they’ve said their few words, Nursey shuffles Dex through the crowd, past Ransom and Holster, past Bitty who is leaning up against a wall with his phone in his hand and a smile on his face, and they head down to the basement where the old green couch is, and that’s where Nursey loses himself to the rest of the night.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 17 May 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ransom/Holster.

_37.) “Someone sent us forty dildos via FedEx.”_

Ransom nearly trips over the box as he steps outside on his way to the library. It’s…the biggest box he thinks he’s ever seen outside of a refrigerator, and it’s marked to him and Holster.

“Holtsy!” he hollers. “We got a huge package!”

“I know that, bro, why are you telling me?”

“No, I mean outside! An actual package!”

“Our dicks are impressive too.”

Rolling his eyes, Ransom bends to the box and looks for a sender, but mysteriously there isn’t one. “Don’t know what it is or who it’s from. Should we open it?” 

Standing the doorway with a mini pie in hand, Holster shrugs. “There’s no other way to find out what the fuck is in it, right?” He disappears into the Haus and comes back with a knife. “Let’s open this fucker and see what we’ve got.”

They work together to get the box open, but it’s filled with so many packing peanuts Ransom is starting to doubt there’s anything in there at all. Except…the box is pretty sturdy? And heavy? So there has to be— 

“Holy shit,” Ransom says.

Holster fishes out a receipt and squints at it. “Someone sent us forty dildos via FedEx.”

“I need to tweet this,” Ransom says, “but the most important question I have is how to spell dildos—is there an E? Then it looks like dil does? That doesn’t seem right, right? Dil does  _what_?”

“What are we going to do with all these?” Holster says, pulling out a particularly large dark purple realistic dildo, cut and thick, with horrifically large balls. 

Ransom stares at him, holding a smaller dildo that can fit a bullet vibrator inside (the bullet is not inside the dildo). “Are you serious? Would you like a demonstration?”

Sometimes Holster gets shy. It’s strange when it happens because he gets shy at things he shouldn’t be shy at, and is boisterously confident with things most people would be shy with (such as, Ransom recalls with clarity, the first time he and Holster fucked in top bunk). Now Holster is shy as he looks at a boxfull of dildos. “Oh, uh. I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.” 

“No? We can go to the library later. We shouldn’t let such a gift go to waste.”

Holster swallows with an audible click, still staring at the dildo in his hand. Ransom wonders what other kinds of gifts are buried in the deep recesses of the box. “Come on,” Ransom says. “Help me take these up to the attic.”

“I need to,” Holster starts, and stops when Ransom raises an eyebrow at him. Holster bites at his lip. Ransom wants to bite it, too. “I need to be thankful for such a gift.”

“Good boy,” Ransom says, and he doesn’t miss the way Holster shudders.

**

 **Shitty:** Do you think they got the box  _(10:42PM)_

 **Jack:** There’s something wrong with you.  _(10:47PM)_

 **Shitty:** I spent a lot of money on those, I hope they had a good laugh.  _(10:49PM)_

 **Shitty:** Do you think they’d actually use them? They wouldn’t, right? That’s weird. Now I’m thinking about it.  _(10:50PM)_

 **Jack:** Go to sleep.  _(10:52PM)_ ****

 **Shitty:** Nah. Nah, they wouldn’t use them. Nah. It was a joke. You don’t use jokes.  _(10:53PM)_

 **Shitty:** Oh my god.  _(10:55PM)_

 **Shitty:** What if they use them, figure out it was me, and send them back.  _(10:55PM)_

 **Shitty:** Oh my god.  _(10:56PM)_

 **Shitty:** What have I done.  _(10:56PM)_

 **Jack:** It would be no less than you deserve. Now go to sleep.  _(10:57PM)_

 **Shitty:** I’m going to have nightmares now, oh my God. This plan has backfired. #neveragain  _(10:59PM)_


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 18 May 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zimbits + some Dex/Nursey.

_22.) “Just get on your knees and shove it in.”_

In the dead of night, sneaking a famous NHL hockey player into his bedroom, Bitty hears scuffling from the attic and freezes. He had no idea Dex and Nursey were still awake, and since they’re arguing he can hear every single word.

“It’s not going to fit.” 

“I’m telling you it will, you just have to really put your back into it.”

“It’s. Not. Going. To. Fit.”

“Nurse, just get on your knees and shove it in.”

Jack stares at Bitty. Bitty stares at Jack. Nursey and Dex are still arguing.

“No, I’m not going to do that. That’s your job, you do it.”

“How is that my job?”

“Because you’re smaller, Poindexter, and you’ll fit better.”

“Not by  _much_.” 

Jack looks so confused that Bitty wants to pet him. He thinks he knows what’s  _not_ going on, but Jack clearly doesn’t. 

“Look, if I do it, what will you give me?”

“Why do I have to give you  _anything_?”

“Because it’s not going to work, so when I make it work, that’s a big deal.”

“Jesus, fine. I’ll do your laundry.”

“Not good enough.”

“Oh my God, can we negotiate later, please? Just fucking do it.”

There’s more scuffling. Bitty is impressed that Jack, who initially had a blowjob on his mind, is staring up at the ceiling like he’s watching tape. He looks utterly fascinated by what’s going on above them.

“I  _told you_ it would fit, Nurse.”

“Great, so now we have a mini fridge under the bunk beds.”

“It saves space!”

Jack puts a face to his hand, whispering, “For a second, I thought they were having sex or something.”

Bitty grins and whispers back, “Nah, they’re just—”

“Now are you going to eat me out for doing  _your_ job or what?” Nurse says, and Dex gives a sigh.

“Fine, get on your stomach.”

Jack and Bitty stare at each other with wide eyes, and it takes them four tries to get into Bitty’s bedroom because they are laughing too hard.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted...I forgot, oops. In May. At some point. Yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to randomoranges for checking my bad google-translated french and making it better!

_5.) “I need you to touch me.”_

His first home game in Providence doesn’t go like he planned, and as Jack sits by himself in the locker room, showered and dressed with shoes on, he stares down at his hands and wonders how they could fail him so much tonight. There was so much  _hype_ over him—he was the fucking free giveaway, for God’s sake, a Jack Zimmermann rookie bobblehead.  _He’s going to do great things_ , they said.

And Jack didn’t even do nothing—nothing would’ve been so much better than what he did. Jack played the worst hockey of his life.

He put on a brave face for the cameras and his teammates. He said,  _It’s the first game of the season_ and  _I’m not worried_ and his teammates supported him. How much they believe it, he doesn’t know, and Jack, who is particularly in tune with the way people respond to him, swears he feels those glancing looks and hears them whispering about him.  _Failure_ , he imagines them saying.  _Weak_.

It’s another hour before he can even move from where he’s sitting. There’s a single text from Bitty, and Jack almost forgot he was even at the game, so inwardly focused as he’s been the last three hours. 

 **Bitty:** I let myself in. Talk soon, I love you <3 <3 <3 <3  _(10:02PM)_

Trudging through his front door, he sees Bitty sitting on the couch with his laptop, a textbook open on the coffee table. Bitty looks up and they meet eyes in the soft golden light of the nearby lamp. Jack sighs and shuts the door, locks it for the night, and he lets Bitty come to him, lets Bitty reach for him.

“What do you need?” Bitty asks, his hands soft on Jack’s face, where he cups his jaw gently.

“I need you to touch me,” Jack says, and Bitty pulls him in close, wrapping him up so tight and fierce that it almost takes Jack’s breath away. Bitty walks him backward into the bedroom, tells him in a hushed voice to close his eyes, and Jack does. He trusts that Bitty will take care of him. He undresses Jack, gets him under the covers, and curls up with him, holding him, stroking his hair. He doesn’t say much, and Jack’s grateful for that. He rests his head on Bitty’s chest and listens to his heartbeat, which is blessedly slow and very unlike Jack’s own, and he concentrates on Bitty’s calm breathing, matching him with effort, struggling to keep the shallow breaths from taking over. 

“Je suis désolé,” Bitty says, and his accent is better than it used to be. It makes Jack smile.

“Tu t'améliores,” he says into Bitty’s neck, striving to be closer than before. Bitty doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Shit, I don’t know what you just said.” 

It makes Jack laugh and he finds Bitty’s mouth with his own. “I said you’re getting better.”

“Well, good. Come here.” 

Bitty loves on him with his hands, his mouth, his body, and his tender words. He pulls Jack apart at his fragile seams and repairs him with gentle ease, not asking him for anything but giving him everything in the way that only Bitty can, selfless creature that he is. Jack accepts his love and gives in return, loving the surprise in Bitty’s eyes, then the passion.

Later, when they’re draped together, Jack tells him that he loves him and Bitty echoes it sleepily, a little “J’t’aime” that makes Jack’s heart skitter, ease, and quiet down.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted 25 May 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Dex/Nursey AU.

_15.) “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”_

 

“IT, this is Dex.”

“Hi, Dex. I can’t print, come fix it.”

Shit. Dex rubs at his forehead and sighs. For the last six months, without fail, at least twice a week he gets a call from Derek Nurse, Project Manager, who Dex refers to as Sir Fucks-It-Up to his friends. “Can I get your first and last name, please?”

“I think we’re beyond that, aren’t we?” 

“Derek.”

“See? You already got the first half.”

Dex doesn’t like cheerful people at eight in the morning on a Monday. “Give me your first and last name. Please.” 

“Derek Nurse. You can call me Nursey, remember?” 

“So the problem is that you can’t print, correct?” Dex doesn’t give in to Derek’s stupid, lazy voice.  _Some_ people actually have to work for their paycheck. They don’t get to just travel all over and schmooze. 

There’s sound on Derek’s end of the line, and Dex hears him clicking away. “No, I can’t.” 

“Is the printer on?” 

“Seriously?” 

Dex purses his lips. “Yes. Is it on?” 

“Of course it’s on.”

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“I love it when you use our code phrase for affection.”

Jesus. Christ. Dex has to physically clutch the desk to keep himself from punching his phone system. “Have you?” 

“Of course, first thing I do every time.”

“Do you see any printers listed?”

“Nope. That’s why I can’t print.” 

Ugh, what a goddamn moron. “So we need to install the correct printers. What’s your laptop number?”

Derek gives it to him. Then says, “Are you at Richland today?”

“No. I can do a screen share and remotely install for you.” 

“Aw. That’s disappointing.”

“Why?” 

“We’ve never met in person. Don’t you think we should?”

“Please accept my request for a screen share,” Dex says instead.

“If I don’t, will you come up and see me?”

Dex prays to about fifteen different gods. “If you don’t, you don’t get to print.”

“Are you at home, then? Or the Lakeland site?”

“Please accept my request for a screen share, Derek.” 

“Do you work in your pajamas? That sounds nice.” 

Derek Nurse works from home like two days a week, what the fuck is he talking about  _that sounds nice_. “Derek.”

“Accepted.”

Dex is quiet as he does his work, and he’s surprised that Derek is quiet too. Usually he tries to be  _engaging_ and  _friendly_ , which Dex just cannot be assed to do. After several minutes, he says, “You should be able to print now.”

“You’re a genius, Dex. Thanks.”

Dex closes out the ticket and hangs up the phone call. If he has to talk to Derek Nurse again before Friday, he’s going to be buying more vodka. 

****

“IT, this is Dex.” 

“Hi, Dex.” Fuck. “I’m not receiving any emails and I don’t know why.” 

Fuck, fuck. It’s fucking Wednesday, how much shit can he fuck up in two days? “May I have your first and last name, please?”

“Aw, honey, I want to hear  _you_ say it.”

“Please,” he says, teeth grinding, “give me your first and last name.”

“Derek Nurse.” Why is he always so fucking cheerful? He sounds like some kind of a fucking lounge singer. “Are you in your pajamas today?”

“Please close your Outlook and re-open it,” Dex says, because he  _is_ at home in his pajamas, but he doesn’t need Sir Fucks-It-Up to know that. 

“Is that our new way of saying have you tried turning it off and on again?” He doesn’t wait for Dex to snap at him before saying, “Okay, I did that. Still not working.”

“Does it look like you have an active connection?”

“Can you come look for yourself?”

“Derek.”

“Fine, fine. I can load up redsox.com just fine.”

A Red Sox fan. Well, he gets at least one point taken out of the Fuck You column. Dex types more information into his ticket. “Now go back into your Outlook and click on the button that says Send/Receive Mail.”

Derek hums a tune Dex doesn’t recognize, and his voice isn’t unpleasant. “It says it can’t find the Exchange server.”

Dex mutes his phone, swears heartily, and comes back. “Let’s screen share again.”

“What pajamas are you wearing?”

“Please accept my request for a screen share, Derek.”

This time, Derek hums and sings interchangeably while Dex works, and there’s something soothing about it. In the background Dex can hear quiet music playing, and he wants to ask what it is, because it sounds like jazz, and Dex has never listened to jazz in his life. He realizes that he doesn’t really do much other than work and play Xbox. He doesn’t listen to music, he doesn’t really watch movies. He goes to a bar (one, only one) sometimes with a few friends, but that’s…it. Derek seems like a guy who likes movies like  _Requiem for a Dream_ and can talk about  _authorial intent_ and probably knows which art exhibits are opening right now. What a dick. 

“This should work now,” Dex says.

“As always, I’m in your debt.” His voice sounds amused, and Dex wonders—briefly, only briefly—what Derek Nurse actually looks like. He’s never once had the misfortune to actually meet him in person—usually Tara takes care of on-site issues, and Dex is rarely at the Richland location anyway. “So what pajamas are you wearing?”

Dex sighs. “Come on,” Derek wheedles. “It’ll make my day.” 

“Mario,” Dex says, and he flushes uncontrollably, glad no one is there to see it. “8-bit Super Mario Bros.”

Derek’s laugh then is deep and sounds surprised. “Good choice. I loved the original, but I think the one I remember playing the most was Super Mario World. Like, we had a PlayStation and stuff, but there was something about the Super Nintendo I really loved.”

This doesn’t mean anything, Dex tells himself, but his mouth shits out, “Do you still play games?”

“Sometimes. I’m picky, and I do a lot of work at home once I’m done for the day, so it really depends on the day and the game. I’ve been slowly working my way through Fallout 4.”

“Me too,” Dex says, and his heart beats harder. He looks down at his phone. Three calls waiting. “Oh, uh. I have to get back to work.” 

Derek’s voice has softened, and Dex doesn’t like it at all. It rubs too wrong. “Me too. If I have any more problems, I’ll let you know. Good luck with your Sole Survivor.”

“You too,” Dex says weakly, and disconnects the call.

****

Over the months leading up to the Christmas party, Derek’s issues are stranger than ever. He’s still calling once or twice a week, and several times he’s had the same issue more than once and says he can’t remember how Dex fixed it last time. More often than not, they have to screen share—Dex isn’t in the Richland office, though Derek says he keeps hoping.

“I bet you have dark hair,” Derek says in late November, as Dex has remoted in to his laptop to reinstall the Office suite. “Don’t you?” 

“No,” Dex says, trying not to let Derek distract him, but he’s distracted and he knows it. 

“Blonde?”

“No.”

“Shit, are you a redhead?”

Dex flushes, and when he looks down, he can see the freckles on his arms. Yes, he is. “I’m almost done.” 

“You’re a redhead.” Derek’s voice dips low. “That’s interesting.” 

“Why, are you worried I’m going to steal your soul?” The quip comes out before he means it to, and he worries that Derek will get offended and report him, but Derek only laughs.

“You don’t have to steal it.”

 _Well_. “You can use Word now.” He types messily into the ticket and tries not to let his shaking hands ruin his spelling. “That was it, right? Just the Office suite?” 

“For today,” Derek says. “Thank you.”

And then there was the time that Derek’s proxy settings got fucked up and he couldn’t load webpages on Chrome, or the time his touchpad got disabled, or when his display settings were so messed up he couldn’t see his screen. As he dresses for the Christmas party, held at the Lakeland site, Dex is nervous. Something about Derek the last several months made him think that his computer issues were intentional. That maybe Derek deliberately sabotaged his laptop in order to call Dex every week.

It’s stupid, he knows. Derek is one of those people who flirts with anything that moves, and Dex is an easy target (he always has been). Easy to rile up and annoy and wreck in bed. People like Derek Nurse have always been Dex’s weak spot, and Dex refuses to let him dwell on anything regarding Sir Fucks-It-Up, though part of him still wonders what he looks like. He’s got to be tall, with a voice that deep. And well-dressed, for the work he does and the clients he meets with.

He and Tara go to the Christmas party together as friends, and despite the fact that they both work in IT, only Dex is the stereotypical one. He gets his drink and stands off to the side, watching everyone else interact and wishing he were a little less awkward and overworked in person. But he doesn’t know how to change, and even if he could, it probably wouldn’t turn out any different for him anyway.

“You must be Dex.”

 _Shit_. He knows that voice. Dex turns and looks eye to eye with one of the most unfairly attractive humans he’s ever had the bad luck to meet. Derek Nurse’s eyes are a soft gray-green, he has a five o’clock shadow, and Dex feels himself scowling. “Derek Nurse,” Dex says, like it’s a curse. It  _is_. It  _is_ a curse. 

“Nursey.” He extends his hand and Dex shakes it after a moment. “I stalked three other redheads before I saw you.”

“We must be popular tonight,” Dex says, and he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor and wishes he were home playing Fallout so he didn’t have to interact with actual people.

Derek looks completely comfortable—and big—in a tailored pinstriped suit and no tie. Dex is wearing a tie. He thought he was supposed to wear a tie. But now he sees only like three people are wearing ties, and all three of the tie-wearing people look uncomfortable that they are in ties. “How’s your Sole Survivor doing?” 

He wants to play the goddamn game, not chitchat about it. “Fine. Yours?”

“Fine. You want to take a walk?”

Not really. “Sure.”  _Fuck_. 

They leave the building together. Derek is humming under his breath again, and Dex tries to sneak looks at him as often as he can without being suspicious. He’s gorgeous. He’s gorgeous, and he’s a gamer, and he’s funny, and Dex is miserable.

“I’ve thought about you for months,” Derek says, and Dex is glad it’s already dark and poorly lit as they walk around the building, because he is flushing something fierce. “I know I’ve probably driven you absolutely nuts by now, but you always helped me anyway.”

“It’s my job,” Dex says. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You could’ve passed me off to Sharon.”

The junior tech. No way. Well. He could’ve, he supposes. “I guess, but typically the senior techs work with the VIPs.”

“I’m not a VIP.”

He’s not a VIP. Dex could have, at any time, told Derek that he’d put a ticket in for Sharon. But Dex likes fixing things, he always has, and Derek’s issues were relatively easy, and he didn’t see a point in shoving him off to Sharon if it would take him ten minutes.

But sometimes it took him thirty minutes. Or sometimes it took him five, and they talked for twenty. Sometimes Derek made Dex laugh. 

Derek stops. They’re near the parking garage now, by the elevator. Derek is half hidden in the light and his eyes are intense. He takes a step toward Dex, who doesn’t move. “I minored in Computer Information Systems. The first few times I called you were because I really couldn’t fix it myself. Then I wanted to talk to you again, but I didn’t have a reason to. So I made reasons.” 

Dex feels both triumph and crippling fear. He  _knew_ it. That motherfucker was faking it. But oh God, he was faking it to get to Dex. Dex still doesn’t move, but Derek steps in closer, into the light now, and his eyes are greener than before. “I called you Sir Fucks-It-Up,” Dex says suddenly, and Derek reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, backs him gently up against the hidden wall to the side of the elevator, in the dark, out of the way. Dex slides his own hands into Derek’s coat, touching at his strong solid waist. Fuck. Dex hasn’t gotten laid in  _months_.

“I deserved it,” Derek says, and then his mouth is close, breath-on-breath close, and he says, “Will you let me kiss you?”

Dex kisses him instead because otherwise he’d tell him no just to be contrary, and the kiss isn’t soft but Derek turns it soft, cups Dex’s cheek and pins him to the wall, not letting him rut his hips or pull Derek in closer. “Take your time,” Derek tells him, his lips clinging lightly to Dex’s. “We have time.”

“I don’t like waiting,” Dex tells him, and Derek laughs. His laugh is a living thing under Dex’s fingertips, flooding Derek’s body with its light.

“Yes, I know that.” They kiss again. And again. Again, again, again, again, then the backs of Derek’s fingers brush against Dex’s trapped cock, hard and ready, and Dex hisses consent when Derek asks for it, calling him an asshole, telling him to fucking hurry, and Derek is in no hurry at all—he pops the button on Dex’s pants and runs his fingertip up and down the zipper until Dex curses at him again, and then Derek has a hand on his cock and Dex feel like he can breathe again. Embarrassingly, he clutches at Derek, holds onto him tight and still as Derek jerks him off too slow, and Dex holds his breath because otherwise he’s loud, and he doesn’t want  _anyone_ to investigate this.

When he comes it’s a painful thing, an unbidden noise pulled from his throat. Derek is adept at this, apparently, because when Dex manages to open his eyes, Derek is licking at his fingers, and Dex’s clothes are pristine.

“Fuck,” Dex says with feeling. “Fuck, Jesus.”

“You curse like a sailor.”

“My father was a sailor.”

“Ah, makes sense, then.” He leans in, and Dex is still gripping Derek’s shoulders to keep himself upright. “Is it my turn yet?”

“What makes you think it’s your turn?”

“Because I was a good boy for you just now,” and oh sweet God almighty, those words  _do things_ to Dex. He scowls and looks away.

“Just come home with me,” Dex says. 

“Fair plan,” Derek says, and he turns and walks away, leaving Dex to follow him. Swearing at himself, Dex does. 

** 

In the morning, Derek is in his underwear on Dex’s floor in front of the TV, Xbox One controller in his hands, and he’s creating a new character on Dex’s Fallout 4. 

“I have a PS4,” Derek says, when Dex trudges in and rubs at his eyes and stares at Derek’s gorgeous naked back. “This controller is super weird.”

“You’re super weird,” Dex says, because he has to.

“Thanks, pudding,” Derek says, and Dex makes them breakfast before sitting down with Derek and playing video games with him until Derek reaches for his eager bare skin once again.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't remember when I posted this, oops!

34.) “If you want me, take me.  
  


Jack’s eyes have been dancing over him all evening; Bitty can feel them as he moves through throngs of people, smoothing down his tux each time he realizes that Jack is focusing on him. Bitty feels little more than a trained monkey, all gussied up like this at the Falconers’ charity auction, but the response to him has been more than positive—in fact, Bitty is the most popular one there. He’s not sure what he expected, exactly, when he and Jack came out, but this…isn’t exactly it. 

Jack smiles at him across the room, looking absolutely delicious in all white, his hair slicked back save for his cowlick, which gives him a bashful look that Bitty loves. So Bitty starts making his way to Jack, whom he hasn’t even spoken to in over an hour. 

“There you are!” a voice says, and a hand clutches at his. Bitty knows it’s Roxanne and has to forcibly hold back a sigh. For someone from the Bronx, she sure thinks she’s a southern belle. “Honey, why don’t you come on over here with me, I have a few people you need to meet.”

Bitty does not hate Roxanne. Hate is a strong word reserved for bigots and chili with beans. He doesn’t dislike her either, because she is great at her job, and this auction wouldn’t be anything without her. But in this moment, he wouldn’t mind if she fell just a tad ill from the stuffed shrimp. “I was gonna,” he says, but she’s dragging him along, her five-inch heels click-clacking on the tile. Even with them, she’s two inches shorter than he is. 

Bitty meets with Mr. Such and Such and Ms. So and So. He shakes hands and smiles and is generally charming. They want to know all about this young man that stole Jack Zimmermann’s heart. 

It takes another half hour before he can weasel out of yet another discussion about his “enormously successful” cooking channel on YouTube, Bitty Bakes. He finds Jack loitering near the auction table, deep in a conversation with Chowder, the newest rookie for the Falconers, and sidles up next to Jack. 

“Hi Bitty!” Chowder says, nearly dropping his glass of champagne in his effort to hug Bitty. “Can you believe all the people here? I can’t! It’s so busy!”

“How many of those have you had?” Bitty asks, because Chowder is twenty-two but he is still Bitty’s son. 

“Oh just like three or seven,” Chowder says, and his eyes widen as he scans the crowd. “Ohmygosh, Caitlin made it!”

Bitty watches him go and almost comments on Chowder’s radar when it comes to his fiancé, but a hand slips to his back—Jack’s hand—and Bitty looks up at him in expectation. 

“I could,” Jack says, his face its usual mask in social settings like this, “mow down literally everyone in this room if it meant I could take you somewhere private.”

Bitty loves when they play this game in public—each trying to keep a straight face with dirty words and suggestive phrases on their tongues. “If you want me, take me.”

“I will.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Repeatedly. You’ll enjoy it.” Jack looks around at the crowd again, standing unassumingly close to Bitty. They could be talking about the weather, but they’re not. 

“You think so?”

“I have years of evidence to prove that I know so.”

Bitty tilts his head and smiles pleasantly. “Are you going to fuck me or am I fucking you in this repeated taking?”

As always, Jack cracks first. He flushes deeply and doesn’t speak for several moments. “That’s not fair. The rules are to be suggestive but not blatant. You forfeit.”

“We have rules?”

“We do now, because what you just did is not fair at all.”

They flirt with each other on and off the rest of the night at the auction, and after, in their apartment, Bitty spends an extensive amount of time taking Jack Zimmermann apart piece by piece and carefully, lovingly, putting him back together again.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't remember when I posted this either. >.>

_46.) “Where are you? I’m lost in IKEA.”_

 

The short answer is: Jack should’ve known what to expect when he asked Eric Bittle to move in with him.

The longer answer is: Jack has known Bitty for four years, and in that time Bitty never complained about Jack’s decorating skills before, but as soon as he agreed to move in he told Jack there would be  _some changes_ , and those changes include a trip to the Stoughton IKEA, which is nearly an hour away from Providence, to get some things that Jack apparently has lived two years without. 

The ultimate answer is: Jack is so in love with Bitty he’ll do whatever he wants.

However, regardless of how in love he is with Bitty, that doesn’t change the fact that IKEA is huge and, as far as Jack can see, organized strangely. And there are hot dogs? To eat?

His phone rings and it’s Bitty. Jack answers immediately. “Where are you? I’m lost in IKEA.”

“Bless your heart,” Bitty says, and he sounds so warm and fond that Jack can’t help but to grin stupidly next to As Seen on TV buckwheat pillows. “You didn’t get the list I left for you?”

“I have it, it’s just…difficult to decipher.”

“Jack Zimmermann. You just won a Stanley Cup and you can’t make a trip to IKEA by yourself?”

“That was easier.”

Bitty snorts, and his derision is attractive. This is how they flirt. Jack always wants to flirt like this. “Sweet Lord, I don’t know what I’m getting myself into with you.”

“You like it.”

“ _Some_ times. Can you not find the impossible-to-lose massive amounts of living room furniture? We need side tables.”

Jack turns around in a circle before responding. “I’m trapped in the As Seen on TV section.”

“You aren’t  _trapped_ , child. Do you really need me to meet you there? Because if I do that, I can’t guarantee that my mother won’t put flowers all over our new place.” 

 _Our new place_. Jack’s heart somersaults spectacularly in his chest. “Your mother is allowed to do whatever she likes.”

Bitty exhales and his voice is muffled when he shouts, “Mama, Jack said you can do whatever you want!” A pause, then, “She’s going to dye all your underwear pink.”

“I like pink. Come rescue me.”

There’s jostling on Bitty’s end, then another magnificent sigh. “You poor thing. What would you do without me?”

Jack can’t help the dopey smile on his face, and he doesn’t want to. It’s been a long road to get to this point, but he’s genuinely, consistently happy. “Probably die in the middle of IKEA.”

“I love you,” Bitty says, and the words sound tender and rushed all at once as Jack hears him getting the car keys to their new SUV. “I’ll see you soon. Please,  _please_ don’t touch anything in the As Seen on TV section. Lord knows we get enough of that from Mr. Crappy, and Mama says two singing fish are enough for one house.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dex/Nursey, AU (sex worker), extremely NSFW.

_25.) “What are you waiting for?”_

Dex is very, very good at what he does for a living, but whenever his mother asks him what it is, he evades and says he works in the entertainment industry but can’t talk much about his work. “Are you sure you’re not famous or something, pumpkin?” she asks him, once every other month or so. He says no, because it’s the truth. He’s not. But he also can’t tell her he’s one of the best in the…entertainment industry.

The hours are long and there’s a lot of travel required. He does both the camera work and the editing, and the work he does with his videos has earned him actual, honest-to-God awards.

For gay porn. Because that is the entertainment industry he’s in, and his mother should  _never know this_.

As Dex wraps up another long day of shooting, the director, Darren, approaches him and gives him his schedule for the upcoming week. Another sixty hours, but that’s more money in his bank. Darren, who is also the owner of the company, is  _very_ generous with his wages and his insurance benefits. Dex can’t complain. 

“Got a new guy starting tomorrow,” Darren says. “Let’s start a little early to ease any nerves he might have.” 

Dex nods and packs up his equipment. Make that another sixty-one hours.

—

The new guy is called Nursey; his real name is not used on the site, but Dex has him listed as Derek Nurse, twenty-two years old, like Dex himself. Born on Valentine’s Day. Nursey is six-two, two hundred pounds, with slightly out of proportion muscles; he looks like a guy who lifts regularly for fun, and Dex, as a kid who spent summers on lobster boats to earn money, kind of hates those guys. Nursey looks like he comes from money, so Dex has no idea what he’s doing here, willing to fuck and suck for cash.

There’s the usual interview process for a few minutes proceeding any video—for regulars, it’s more of  _what have you been up to_ or  _have you ever done X with Z before?_ New guys get special treatment—they get to make shit up for the viewers to make themselves look as desirable as possible and hopefully get a call back for more vids. Dex, from his years of experience now, knows that Nursey will get a callback even if he’s awful, because he’s too damn pretty and well-built not to. Dex has learned that he can have an aesthetic appreciation for someone and not get his dick in a twist over it.

“I’m Nursey,” he says, when prompted, as he’s sitting on the couch in jeans and a Red Sox t-shirt that’s snug across his biceps. Dex has him focused in the frame that will draw eyes more to Nursey’s arms than his face. His face is nice but his arms are spectacular. “It’s a nickname I got in high school, when I played hockey. I grew up in Manhattan.”

“Is your family rich?” Darren asks, off-screen. The focus is always on the actor.

“Yeah.” 

“Did you get bored one day and decide it’d be cool to jerk off on camera?”

Nursey laughs, and his teeth are very straight and very white. They look like the kind of teeth that never needed braces, which Dex spent four years in. “Pretty much. I’m a poet and I haven’t had a lot of inspiration lately. I thought I’d try something new.”

Dex rolls his eyes so hard.

“Did you go to school for poetry?” Darren asks.

“I did. NYU.”

“So you’re a college man.”

Nursey smiles again, all white teeth and lips tipped at the corners. “I am. Had a 4.0, too.”

“Smart guy,” Darren says, and Dex can see him making a motion, so Nursey leans back with his knees spread casually, all the long hard angled lines of him on display. “Did you get laid a lot?”

“Enough. I’m not greedy.”

“Oh, you’re not?”

“Nah. I got it when I wanted it.”

“Sounds like it was pretty easy for you?”

Nursey shrugs one broad shoulder. His skin, a bronzed-brown, provides a dramatic juxtaposition to his light green eyes. So Dex zooms in on his face little by little as Nursey talks about how much pussy and cock he got in college. How he never really had a preference of one over the other, it always depended on the person and the chemistry. How he’s never bottomed.

“Would you do that for us?” Darren asks. Nursey shifts. It’s clear that he’s getting hard in his jeans.

“I’d think about it,” he says. “Depends on the chemistry.”

They get to business after that, Nursey sliding out of his clothes like they’re water before stretching out comfortably on the couch. He’s uncut and thick, half-hard, his cock starting to curve into the jut of his hip. He doesn’t wax or shave like most everyone on Darren’s site. Instead, the hair on his chest is prominent, tapering down toward his navel, then to his cock like an arrow pointing to the gold at the end of a rainbow. When he jerks his cock, he watches what he’s doing, taking direction from Darren every now and then. Dex knows what he’s doing with the camera, so he makes the first shot count.

He and Darren have always worked well together; they can usually get things done with only a couple of shots, as long as the actors fulfill their duty. 

After Nursey has come—a really fantastic, long, drawn-out pulsing that has him messy and low-voiced—Darren asks him if he can get hard again. “I want a couple of different angles,” Darren says, “and see if you can make more noise.”

It takes under a minute before Nursey is clean and hard and ready to come again. 

Dex  _knows_ they’ll ask him back next time, and personally, he’s grateful to have someone who knows how to follow fucking stage orders.

—

Nursey’s a favorite within a week. The site has different monthly subscription options—$5 for pictures only (Nursey has not done shoots yet), $15 for standard videos, $25 for premium videos, and $50 for live stream access, which happens regularly every Friday and Saturday night with various guys. Standard vids typically consist of solo work, either jerking off or with toys. Darren makes people pay more for actual fucking.

And boy, is Nursey making him some money. When the ten-second teaser of  _Nursey’s First Time_ goes up, so do the subscriptions to the standard videos. But Nursey won’t do anything but solo work. “Not ready,” is all he says, and Darren, sensing that he has to go slow (Dex has seen it a hundred times), lets him have what he wants instead of pushing.

By Nursey’s fifth video, which starts with him in the shower and under a hot spray of water, Nursey has developed a…thing. He keeps looking at Dex.

“Focus on your body,” Darren says. “Don’t worry about the camera.” 

“I want to worry about the camera.”

“Are you nervous?” 

“No.” His eyes are very steady on Dex, who is focused on doing his  _job_. Nobody’s ever paid attention to him before. “I like him.” 

There’s quiet in the room. Darren, his assistant Chris, and Dex’s assistant Jared all stare at Dex. “You like…the camera guy?”

“Mmm. He’s a redhead.”

Dex scowls. He doesn’t say anything. The glint in Darren’s eye is dangerous.

“What else do you like about him?”

 _I’m not a part of this_ , Dex wants to say, but he stays quiet. Keeps the camera focused. Tries to ignore the way Nursey watches him, unblinking.

“His eyes. He has nice eyes.” Nursey’s hand slides down his wet chest and grips his heavy cock. Because he’s in charge of the camera, Dex stays focused on Nursey’s hand, silent.

“What else?” Darren asks.

“Everything.” 

After that Nursey gets himself off, twice, and Dex films every moment of it until Darren says that the scene is wrapped, and he turns and walks back to his gear to pack up. 

—

Things don’t get any better. Nursey’s still doing solo work a month in, but now Darren has bumped him up to  _premium solo_ , a new price point, which he gets an extra $5 a month for. Nursey is the only solo doing the premium work. Darren’s making  _bank_. 

Except now, Dex is sort of drawn into things too. People have begged to see him, Darren says. They want to know what Nursey is so damn fixated on, because in all of his videos Nursey is looking and not looking at the camera, and now everybody knows why. They know that Nursey is interested in the camera guy.

Dex has not spoken a word to Nursey other than the usual “turn left” or “wait here” or “I’m almost finished” when he’s setting up. Nursey hasn’t approached him either. He has been saving his bedroom eyes and his smooth-voiced comments for the camera, which makes Dex think it’s a ploy for attention. Dex is  _not_ mad that Nursey isn’t actually interested in him, he’s not, really, but it seems like it’s just another deception in the industry. At least all of Nursey’s comeshots are real.

“I want to try something,” Darren says, when Nursey shows up for his shoot fifteen minutes early, as always. He’s in a muscle tee and board shorts, fiddling with something on his phone while Dex moves the pillows around on the bed to his satisfaction. So many details go into make his videos good. Maybe he  _does_ like his job after all, despite being so desensitized to it. “Dex, come here for a second.”

“No,” Dex says immediately, not bothering to straighten up from where he’s now adjusting some of the props—the lamp shouldn’t look like a focal point in the shot. “I’m not doing a video.”

“Just the very beginning, you can keep your clothes on.” 

“I don’t do the videos.”

“Five seconds,” Darren says. “I’ll even pay you for it.” 

Dex looks over at him and scowls. “No.” Then he returns to getting the scene ready. 

“Dex. I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you let me film five seconds of you walking across the room.”

Sighing, Dex straightens. “And what the hell is that going to do?”

“They’ll know what I’m looking at,” Nursey says, and Dex looks over at him almost on reflex, his eyes tracing the path that voice took to get to him. Nursey hasn’t shaved. His stubble looks like a weeks’ worth even though he was cleanshaven yesterday.

“I don’t do videos,” Dex says again. 

“You could,” Nursey says. “You’re pretty.”

Literally no one has ever called him pretty before in his life. No one’s ever called him anything resembling attractive. He can feel his face twisting in another scowl. “No.” 

“No what?”

“I’m not pretty, and I’m not doing the video.” 

“Five hundred,” Darren says, and his eyes dart from Dex to Nursey like he’s calculating how much he could get in return for the five hundred he’s willing to fork over. “We’ll have Nursey on the bed. You walk in the shot, straighten a pillow, and leave. That’s it. That’s all I’m asking.”

Dex looks down at his torn jeans, flip flops, and blue polo shirt. His hair is a mess. 

“You look great,” Darren says. “Now. Five hundred. Is it a deal?” 

For five hundred bucks, Dex can walk on camera and walk right out again, sure, fine. “Okay,” he says, handing his camera to Jared. “But that’s  _it_.”

—

He should’ve known that wouldn’t be it. He should’ve known that Darren, seeing the dollar signs, would coax Dex into doing more. “Just say a few words on camera,” he says. “You have a great accent. Our guys will like it.”

“I sound like a cheap extra on  _Good Will Hunting_ ,” Dex says, as he’s repairing the malfunctioning shutter release on the camera. “Nobody wants me to say anything, trust me.”

“Dex.”

Sighing, Dex looks up. “Why are you having me do this? Can’t you just hire somebody to pretend to be me or something? Or better yet, make him stop looking at me.”

“It’s  _working_ ,” Darren says. “People are  _paying_ for this. And I am paying  _you_.”

“Are you threatening to fire me?” 

“Not at all. But I’m asking you if you want to start making more money.” 

“I don’t  _need_ more money.”

Nursey walks in then, wearing the three-piece suit for this particular shoot they’re doing, where he’ll undress first before jacking off. He moves to the big chair they have on set for the occasion, and Dex finds himself watching Nursey’s movements, the way he’s so casual on set now, all loose and unconcerned.

“You can touch him,” Darren says quietly, so Nursey can’t hear, “if you want. He’d let you.”

Dex is certain a fire has been lit on his face. He turns away so fast he nearly knocks over the tool bag he brings with him on set for minor malfunctions. “No. I don’t want to.”

“I think you do.” 

“ _No_. Don’t ask me again.”

“Will you at least talk a little so we can get it on video?”

Dex will concede to that, if only to get Darren off his back.

When the camera is on and Nursey is watching Dex like he always does, nobody moves for several moments. Nursey is splayed and unselfconscious and very clothed. Dex, annoyed because they are ten minutes late into shooting which means he might be late to start the next round, lets himself say, clearly so the mic picks it up, “What are you waiting for?”

Nursey’s smile is a lazy, annoying thing. “I thought you were joining me.”

“No. I’m not. Get on with it.”

“Are you so impatient to get me undressed?”

“No.” He wonders how his voice will sound to other people; to him, he sounds petulant and juvenile and coarse. “It’s not me you’re doing this for.”

“Isn’t it?” Nursey unknots his tie and slides it off. His fingers are beautiful, so long and tapered. Delicate hands that have never hauled in lobster traps before. 

“What are you waiting for?” Dex asks again, and absolutely doesn’t blush when Nursey purses his lips at him in a kiss before sliding a hand down his chest, hips arched, to unbuckle his belt.

—

Dex appears in every other video of Nursey’s, who still hasn’t moved on from solo work, and something uncomfortable and frustrating in Dex’s chest is glad for it. They haven’t touched yet. Dex, impossibly, wants to. Touch and be touched. Nobody’s touched him in longer than he can remember.

Then comes the day that Dex consents to be on camera by himself, simply talking. He’s wearing khakis and a green polo, and made sure to come in with decently styled hair. Darren’s asking him questions, and Dex starts to get a little more comfortable. They’re very unpresumptuous, non-sexual. Where he was born, how he grew up, what lobster boats are like. They talk about the fact that Dex is from a family of strong gingers. Even his childhood dog growing up was a ginger Golden Retriever.

Then Nursey comes in, early as always, and trips over some of the equipment. The mic comes crashing down. Cursing, Dex moves over to retrieve his equipment.

“Sorry,” Nursey says. “I can be clumsy.”

Dex has never seen him clumsy before and gives Nursey a raised eyebrow of disbelief. Nursey watches him with steady eyes, but he looks far less self-assured than usual. They are standing close together, Dex straightening out the mic and Nursey with hands in his pockets.

Darren is still filming, but cuts to Nursey soon after. Then Dex takes over, Nursey gets off, and Darren tells Dex not to cut anything from the beginning. Dex doesn’t, but it’s tough. He doesn’t like looking at himself on camera, embarrassed by his huge ears and his skin mottled with freckles. He doesn’t know what anyone might see in him, but Darren has an eye for money and must be seeing something Dex doesn’t, or can’t, or won’t. 

—

“Give us a kiss,” Nursey says, when he’s got his hand around his dick and is jacking off for the third time.

“No,” Dex says, and is it his imagination or does his voice sound lower than usual?

“Please? It’ll make me come.”

 _Ugh_ , Dex does not like this at all (he likes it a lot—but really not at all). He has to swallow hard and focus on keeping the camera the way it should be. Darren has let them trade words back and forth for several videos now. He’s making so much money he has a Nursey-only subscription offer. “No,” Dex says. “You can come fine on your own.”

“It’ll make me come harder.”

“No.”

Twice, he has been referred to as the Sassy Redhead. Dex can’t figure out if that’s a compliment or not.

Nursey comes without Dex, and it’s fine, they finish the video, Dex packs up. It’s fine, it’s all fine. Except that he’s half-hard when he  _never_ gets hard at work, and he spends every neuron he has on packing up his equipment, the repetition of the movements soothing to him as he tries to focus.

“Hey,” Nursey says, when he’s dressed. He doesn’t look like a guy who shot his load four times on camera. “You busy later?”

Dex stares at him. “Uh, yeah? I have to edit and get this up tonight.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know you edit, too.”

“Well, yeah.” Dex stands and starts wrapping up cords. Nursey is standing too close. Dex is aware of his skin, warm and slightly sweat-damp not six inches away. “I do pretty much all of it.”

“You’re good at it.” 

“Don’t flatter me.”

“It’s only flattering if it’s insincere.” A pause. “Can I take you home?” 

Dex meets his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say to that. People don’t say things like that to him. So he says nothing. 

Nursey chews at his lips. “I’d let you fuck me.”

Something surges wildly in Dex’s stomach. The cords in his hands feel alien and forgotten. “I can’t.”

“No?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

Nursey steps closer. Dex tightens his grip on the cords. “You’re saying you can’t, but not that you don’t want to.”

“I can’t,” Dex says, again. He doesn’t apologize, but the  _sorry_ is right on his tongue. He lets his eyes flick down to Nursey’s plush mouth. Then he looks away. 

“Maybe another time,” Nursey says, and he’s gone and Dex is still hard. 

—

Nursey finally agrees to fuck on camera. He gets to pick out the guy, and Dex struggles to get through the scene. He likes James just fine; in fact, James is one of Dex’s favorites to work with. He’s nice, funny, really easygoing, and extremely genuine. But James is enjoying sucking Nursey’s cock way too much, and Nursey is into it too and isn’t looking at Dex, and for the first time in nearly three years, Dex wants to quit.

By the time James is stretched open and ready to get fucked, Dex has to call a time out. 

“What the fuck?” Darren says, not unkind but genuinely shocked. Dex has never taken so much as a sick day, though Darren has forced him to use his vacation time like  _any respectable boss would, you fuck_. “Dex, you okay, man?” 

“I just need a break,” Dex says, and he walks straight out of the room and down the hall, where there’s a live stream going on. The sounds of sex are all over the mansion they use for shooting, and Dex can’t take any of it. He heads out to the back veranda and paces for a while with his hands in his pockets, trying to get his stupid heart settled down in his chest. The sun is just beginning to set. He wants to drive something dangerously fast and get whatever is in his veins  _out_. 

Someone joins him outside. “I’m fine,” Dex says, because Darren is predictable. “I’ll be in soon.”

Hands on his waist from behind—not Darren. A chest to his back. A mouth to his neck. “Why so jealous?”

When Dex was little, he would get so mad at people he’d imagine himself puffing up like a hedgehog, all spines and no soft belly that could be hurt. He tries that here, but Nursey’s hands slide to his stomach and  _press_ and Dex can’t be prickly even if he wanted to be. “I’m  _not_ jealous,” he says, and not even he believes it.

“I want you,” Nursey says, and Dex finds himself tipping his head to the side, an inch, then two, to give Nursey’s mouth space to place. His breath is ghostly. His lips are solid.

“I can’t.”

“I don’t know why.”

Neither does Dex. But he’s used to not having things; this can’t be any different. “We need to go back in. I have another shoot at eight.”

“Can I take you home?”

“I can’t.” 

They finish the shoot, during which Dex wants nothing more than to throw up. Nursey’s eyes are on him the entire time.

—

It turns out that Dex  _can_. Nursey asks after every video, his eyes on Dex during every fuck.  _Can I take you home_. Dex says  _I can’t_  and Nursey leaves it be.

_Can I take you home?_

_I can’t._

_Can I take you home?_

_I can’t._

_Can I take you home?_

_I can’t._

Then Dex says yes. It’s been a long day. He is tired. He is weary to his bones, which feel hollow and heavy at the same time. He wants to sleep. There is fire crawling under his skin and licking at his nerves. He’s jumpy. He’s uncontained.

“Can I take you home?” Nursey says, dressed once again in his strange California/Manhattan hipster clothes.

“Yes,” Dex says, without thinking, and Nursey nearly trips over his own feet as he’s walking away, having expected something different. 

“What?”

“Yes,” Dex says, a second time, when his equipment is safely packed away. “I said yes.”

They don’t make it to  _home_ , wherever that is. They make it to the back of Nursey’s 1967 Chevy Camaro. Nursey accidentally elbows Dex in the face in his effort to get out of his clothes, and Dex has to crouch over Nursey with one hand on the driver’s side headrest and the other frantically trying to unbutton his pants. Nursey helps. Dex is gonna have a swollen lip from that elbow, and he doesn’t even care.

“Fuck,” Dex hisses, when Nursey’s fingers, clever and long, tug on his cock to get it out of his pants. “Fuck, shit.”

“I want to suck you off,” Nursey says, and his voice is breathy and very  _not_ calm.

“No room,” Dex says, because there’s not, this stupid limited edition muscle car is not built for athletic sex between two young strapping men, and Dex doesn’t have the patience to get anywhere else. So he tells Nursey to jack him off and Nursey does, his free hand resting on Dex’s shoulder, then the back of his neck. They rut together without rhythm until Nursey makes them find it, telling Dex to  _stop_ so they can breathe and start again. It’s good. Dex is only half undressed but Nursey is all skin beneath him, his long legs struggling to wrap around Dex’s hips, pulling him in, closer, harder.

Dex isn’t an actor for a reason. He comes thoroughly and messily and quickly between them, because shit, was it—was it the summer after high school? The last time this happened? He’s always too busy for this, but here he is, a strange-eyed god of the stars squirming beneath him and begging him to come more. 

He can’t, of course. He’s not Nursey, who comes himself as soon as Dex touches him. Dex collapses on him, breathing in the musky scent of their sex and of Nursey’s skin, which is vaguely spicy and very masculine. Dex is liquid and shaking. He can’t think much. He needs to think. Otherwise he gets into situations like this. 

“Don’t tell me you can’t again,” Nursey says, “please.”

“We’ll see. We’ll see.”

They kiss for the first time, neither one kissing the other first but meeting their mouths together in unison. Then they kiss more, until they’re both chilled from their sweat, and sticky, and Dex is getting a leg cramp. Finally Dex gets out of the Camaro, dressed, and stumbles his way to his own car.

—

“Just think about it,” Darren says, a week or so later. “That’s all I ask.”

“I’m not meant to be on camera,” Dex says, darning one of the pillows. “I can’t do what all these guys do.”

“I’m not asking you for that. You two have chemistry. You’re a favorite, Dex, and no one even ever sees you. They want you. I’ll  _pay you_.”

Dex glances over at Nursey, who’s chatting in a friendly way with Ian and Sedric, who are going to be in the scene with him today. “What would I have to do?”

The look on Darren’s face is one of wonder. “You’ll consider it?”

“It depends on what I have to do.”

“Oh, God, um. What. What would you be willing to do?”

Dex doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Nothing solo.”

“Got it, okay, done.”

“Nothing with anyone else.”

Darren raises an eyebrow. “Anyone else?”

“Just him.”

They both know who  _him_  is. Darren’s watching Dex with very shrewd eyes. “Can I request that it be a livestream?”

“Yes. That’s fine. Nothing…nothing really intense. I’m not—”  _Good enough_ , he wants to say. “I’m not ready for any of that yet.” 

Ian and Sedric get sent to another room for their own video. Different cameras are set up. Emails are sent out to the live stream subscribers, and the Nursey-only subscribers to invite them in. Dex thinks he all but hears the  _ka-ching_  of the cash register in Darren’s brain going off. 

“You okay with this?” Nursey says, barefoot but still clothed in a thin San Francisco hoodie and his usual stupid board shorts.

Dex nods. He’s so nervous he’s sweating in…places. “Yeah. I’m just. I’m really nervous.”

“You were so jealous you agreed to this,” Nursey says, and his smile is tipped and smug, and Dex doesn’t say anything because it’s true. Yes, he was jealous. No, he doesn’t want anyone touching Nursey again. Yes, he’s going to live with it, because obviously Nursey will touch and be touched and fuck and be fucked in the future, but for this one time, Dex wants to be the one to do it, for everyone to see that Dex is allowing this, has consented to it, wants it. 

When Darren announces they have over four hundred new subscribers in less than twenty minutes, Dex is rather…pleased with himself. 

Then the stream starts. Darren wants it natural, like everything else. They talk a little about how they first met, in Nursey’s first video. Dex flushes uncontrollably through most of it, admitting he’s never done anything like this before and he’s always preferred to stay behind the camera, even when he did drama for a year in high school.

“Were you like the sound and recording guy?” Darren says.

“No, I did stage makeup. I was really good at it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Nursey says. “You’re very creative.” 

“You like that?” Darren asks. “That he’s creative?” 

Nursey lowers his eyes. His lashes are thick like lace, and his skin is flushed that little bit the way it does when the lights are too bright, but the lights aren’t too bright right now. “I do.”

“You’ve liked Dex for a while,” Darren says. “Even when Dex was aloof about it.” 

“He’s intense and focused on what he does. I find that attractive.”

Dex looks down at his hands. There’s a knot of tension between his shoulderblades, and his nerves are getting the better of him. He tightens his grip on his fingers and tries to breathe. Then Nursey’s hand covers his.

“Hey, it’s just me.”

“I know,” Dex says, exhaling. Darren has fallen quiet.

“Come here,” Nursey says, and Dex lets himself be persuaded out of the hunched-over shell he’s made of his body, lets Nursey touch and pull him, draw him in for a slow, lingering kiss. 

They don’t do all that much on camera, really. Dex forgets after a while, because in live streams Darren mostly stays quiet. He only gives direction if there needs to be some, but Dex and Nursey are fine on their own, hands light, then firm, shirts coaxed off. Nursey pushes at Dex until Dex is pressed against the arm of the couch, knees falling open, and Nursey settles himself there with one hand in Dex’s hair and the other on his shoulder and his mouth on Dex’s mouth.

They do end up getting off, rutting slow and still clothed, Dex trying to keep quiet like he always does save for his soft curses and breathless exhales. Nursey’s noisy and Dex bites at his neck when Nursey comes, Dex following soon after. They kiss more. Dex makes embarrassing little sounds in his throat—whimpers, sighs, murmured words of thanks.

“Cut,” Darren says, and Dex recognizes the familiar sound of the live stream turning off. He and Nursey still have their shorts on.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Darren says, and Dex, still with Nursey spread and lovely in his lap, only sighs. 

“I expect to be better paid,” Dex says, and Darren promises everything but the moon. Nursey’s eyes are warm. Dex is warm. Dex smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sequel to this fic, written by [annundriel](http://annundriel.tumblr.com), can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7784635). :) <33333


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future!fic, unrepentant fluff.

41.) “Why can’t I ever take a bubble bath in peace?”

 

Sunday has been one of the longest days in Bitty’s entire life, and he didn’t even open the bakery. As he slips beneath the hot water and delicious lavender bubbles in their Jacuzzi tub, he closes his eyes and breathes deeply. His back aches, and he’s grateful that Jack tagged himself in for duty so Bitty could take a much-needed bath. 

That is, until the door opens and Jack’s voice cuts through the calm oasis Bitty has cultivated.

“Bits? Lucy is making a funny noise? It’s kind of like this.” And he proceeds to make a sort of gurgling noise in the back of his throat. “Is that normal?” 

For a second, Bitty thinks of not responding and letting Jack fend for himself, but that would be cruel. All weekend with their newborns has been like one long unending (sleepless) dream, and although Jack has spent the last six months reading four dozen baby books, it’s like he’s forgotten everything he’s read when he’s left alone with them. Bitty sighs. “Jack? Honey? I’m sure she’s fine. Babies make noises. Is she normal otherwise?”

“Yeah, she’s just. She’s looking around a little and then going back to sleep, but that noise—is that an okay noise?” 

“I’m sure it is,” Bitty says, looking over at him with raised eyebrows. “What do your books say?”

Jack has a wild look about him that he usually only gets in a tight Stanley Cup final. “I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything.” 

Calmly, and without getting out of his bath, Bitty says, “Why don’t you go look through some of your books, honey? I’m sure she’s fine. Really.”

Nodding, Jack leaves the bathroom, then comes back, says, “I love you,” and shuts the door.

Bitty smiles and sinks deeper into the water. For another five minutes.

The door opens again. “Hey, Bits?”

“Why can’t I ever take a bubble bath in peace?”

“Oliver’s crying.” 

Bitty looks at him. “Babies cry, Jack. They are babies. They have existed in this world for less than a week.” 

“But it’s a different kind of crying from before?”

Before Jack can give Bitty an example, Bitty holds up a bubble-covered hand. “Jack. Babies cry for only a few reasons. Is he hungry?”

“No, they both ate.”

“Is he wet?”

“No, they’re both dry.”

“Maybe you can just rock him a little and carry him. I’m sure he’d like that.” Why Jack thinks Bitty is a baby expert, he has no idea. Bitty’s the one that put together the cribs, sure, and picked out all the colors and decorations in the nursery, but Jack’s the one that has read all the books (Bitty only read the top five recommended ones). Jack’s the one that was so confident before he actually _saw_  his twins for the first time.

“But if I rock him,” Jack says, voice sounding worried, “Lucy might get jealous.”

“She’s five days old, I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Bits.”

Sighing, Bitty eases himself standing and pulls the plug on the drain. Jack is over to him in an instant with a towel, helping him out and drying him off. “Sorry,” Jack says, and his hair looks like he’s been pulling at it in worry. “I’m a mess. I know they’re fine. But I’ve called my mom six times since you’ve been in here.”

Bitty stares at him. “I’ve been in here for like fifteen minutes.”

“What? Oh my God, it feels like an hour.”

Bitty cups Jack’s face in his hands, and Jack looks at him with steadying eyes, matching his breathing to Bitty’s, as they’ve done so many times together over the last ten years. “Baby? It’s fine. We’re a team here, you’re not doing this alone. We’re going to be fine. You believe me, right?”

Jack nods and presses his forehead to Bitty’s. “Yeah, yes. Just. I’m so overwhelmed. And I want to be good to them. I want them to be happy and not…anxious.” 

“We’re going to give them the best we can,” Bitty says, “and help them when they stumble, because they will. But you can’t be thinking about that right now. They’re just too little. Right now, we make sure they get fed, stay clean, and stay warm. That’s really all we need to do.” 

Taking one last deep breath, Jack nods. “Can I tag you back in now, please?”

Bitty holds up his hand, and Jack slaps it. “ _Fine_. But this is a team effort tonight, you hear me?”

Relief is evident in Jack’s smile, and he has a bit less tension in his shoulders. “Yes,  _mon chou_. I promise.”


End file.
